Finding Love in Depression
by Poseida Lunar
Summary: Draco Malfoy, son of the sixth richest man in USA. Harry Potter came from a family that lost everything due to the downfall of the economy. When they crossed path, depression took on its full toll. Slash HPDM, during Great Depression. Warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter and I don't own the history of the Great Depression. Though owning Harry Potter might not be bad...

**A/N:** A million thanks to my betas, Cherry-Starburst, Forest Star and erisedvision139!

**Warning:** Angst, violence, slash, adult content, blood, gore, death, raping, adult-on-child, so on, and so forth. Please note that this warning covers the entire story. So you might never know when one of those things might suddenly pop up in the story.

* * *

"Mother, Father! I'm home!" a fourteen-year-old Harry Potter shouted from the front porch. It was a Monday in October. The wind blew at his face as he pushed the door open, startling his mother, Lily.

"No need to be so loud, Harry," she said in her soft voice as she walked gracefully across the kitchen and tried to give Harry a kiss on the forehead with her lipstick-covered lips. Harry, like any boy his age, dodged it.

"Mother. I'm fourteen," he whined as he glanced up.

"And still my little baby," Lily cooed, and sneezed. "Phew, I guess I have too much make-up on today."

"Mother," Harry whined even louder as he settled his books on the dining table.

Lily shook her head. "No, no. Dinner is ready in an hour. Get your books into your room."

The exhausted boy sighed as he stomped into his room, throwing his books all over his bed.

Harry Potter was the son of Lily and James Potter. The son of the most-liked and the wealthiest family in his town, a little out-of-the-way place in the state of Virginia. He had messy black hair from his Irish father, a young man who had immigrated to America in his teens, and a pair of lovely green eyes from his American Mother, a young flapper who wore too much make-up. Top of his class and the most handsome boy in his school; who could ask for more?

"Harry! Time for dinner! Go wash your hands, and _s__crub _them!" Lily shouted. "I don't want to see any dirt under your fingernails when you get down here, young man."

Harry sighed again for the second time that day. His mother always told him to scrub his hands. Meaning that he had to use soap and actually rub his hands very hard together and get the dirt off under his fingernails. He wished that his family wasn't quite as wealthy as it was.

Ron's mother never told Ron to scrub his hands.

* * *

"How was school today, my boy?" James asked his son from across the dining table, as he shoved a spoonful of peas into his mouth.

"Slow down, dearest. You'll choke," Lily advised.

Harry shrugged. "Same old. I won the spelling contest," he said, trying not to brag. "But it was really easy. I learned all the words last year. And Mom, about the Halloween pu-"

"That's good Harry. And as for the pumpkin pie, your mother will deal with that tomorrow," James said, not really interested and turned to face his smiling wife. "How was your day, Lil'?"

Lily giggled like a young girl. "I bought a new skirt for 3 dollars."

James raised an eyebrows."But didn't you just buy a skirt last week?"

"I did indeed."

"Well, are you even planning to wear them?" James asked. His wife was always buying things and then leaving them lying there in her closet for the moths to eat. A plain waste of money.

"Of course I am," his wife scoffed and her smile turned upside down.

James' eyebrow rose higher in disbelief. "Well, I guess it's OK. Anyway, I was thinking of building a new house."

His son and wife put down their forks at the sudden and unexpected news, made even more unexpected because James said it like it happened every day.

"Where will we get the money to do that? Why do we need it?" Lily asked. "We have a perfectly fine house- the best in town."

It was true. Only the Potter's house boasted an actual two-spaced car garage. The house had the most bedrooms of all the town's houses; five bedrooms and two bathrooms. There was a walk-in-closet, and the kitchen and dining room were separated- something that not many people could afford.

"Well," James said. "I just saw what our stocks are worth, you know, the ones we invested in Standard Oil? If we sold that stock, we'd have the money to build an even grander house, buy a new car for Harry for his sixteenth birthday, and all with some extra money left over!"

Harry's eyes lit up. A car? "Really?" he asked.

James nodded. "And a new radio, as a matter of fact."

His wife, however, was frowning. "I don't think that's such a good idea. I heard that Molly's family just lost their investment with that steel company from New Jersey."

"Don't fret. King Steel is just a small, remote little company. It's Standard Oil we're talking about here. Besides, I've already been in contact with three people. I will sell our stocks to the one who offers the most. And a year or so from now, we can start a new home and rent this one out for extra income," James said, grinning at his plan. "It will be great."

"OK, I guess," Lily said. She was, however, still frowning.

The night they went to bed was October 28th, 1929. A Monday.

* * *

"That's impossible!" James shouted at the the man in front of him. "What do you mean my stocks are worthless, Pettigrew?"

"I mean that it's worthless," Peter Pettigrew answered. He was a rich man who owned three businesses in Virginia, with a reputation like a sewer rat's. Not only that, he looked like one too. "You've got to understand James. Everybody is selling their stocks and the price just plunged down the drain. The most I would offer for that piece of paper right now is 500 dollars."

"What?" This could not just have happened. Stocks that were worth so much only the night before couldn't be worth only 500 dollars.

"50,000," James said, grinding his teeth.

"No deal," the fat, rat-like man said flatly.

"It was 50,000 dollars yesterday," James protested.

"Sorry, Mr. Potter, no can do," Peter answered. "500 or nothing. I'm not buying a nearly worthless piece of paper for 50 grand. I've come across far better deals in my businesses."

"You can't do that. You said that you would buy it last night by the phone." James defended.

"I did. But I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. Your stocks are currently worth nothing at all. So may I suggest you leave. The door is to your right," Peter replied with a sneer.

James glared at the man before storming out of the door.

* * *

"Are you joking Rita? We put our life savings in there," Lily said, stunned, to the the blond curly-haired woman, who was currently packing her belongings into a box, anxious to leave as soon as possible. "You can't just close like this."

"I'm sorry but Virginia state bank has gone bankrupt. Excuse me, but I've got more stuff to pack," Rita Skeeter said, shoving a yellow folder into her big purse. She clearly didn't like Lily's presence in the empty bank.

"Could I at least withdraw my family's savings?" Lily asked desperately. "We have 9,800 dollars in our account. It's ours, I mean-"

"Mrs Potter. You're the 7th person I've had to turn away today. And I'm very sorry that the money is all gone. There is none left to give out," Rita Skeeter said as she put on her coat.

"Half of our savings?" Lily asked as she became paler and paler. They couldn't just lose their money like that. It had taken forever for them to save up. Why, Harry's entire college fund was in there! "Anything?" Her voice had trailed to a whisper. "Anything at all? Mrs. Skeeter? Please?"

Rita shook her head. "Nothing. Not a single cent."

"But- but, where did all the money go? It can't have just disappeared like that. 9,800 dollars can't have gone missing overnight," Lily demanded. "Our bank account was fine the last week I checked. Why didn't anybody warn us of this? Mrs Skeeter, why?"

"Listen to me Mrs Potter, you are certainly not the only one that's wondering about that," Rita said. "I have six children of my own and a set of old parents. I don't know even know where my savings have disappeared to. I do what the boss tells me to and he told me to close the bank. There's no more money, Mrs Potter."

"But what happened to it?" Lily cried, obviously close to tears.

"That's what we all are wondering, Mrs Potter."

* * *

Harry flashed a smile back at Ginny Weasley, his best friend's little sister.

Well, not so little. But definitely not old enough to be dated by any boys. Still, she was the prettiest girl in the school, with red, bobbed flapper hair like Harry's mother had and a pair of stunning brown eyes. She was a developing young girl of 13, and in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, not old enough to be dating. But when she would be, Harry had decided that he would ask her out!

She had no objections, as she waved to him. Harry was a fine boy.

"See you tomorrow," She whispered shyly and skipped down the street, joining a couple of girlfriends, whispering and giggling.

Harry grinned at her and bid a polite goodbye back, even if she couldn't hear him. "See you, Ginny," he said.

He ran home, trampling all the autumn leaves beneath his feet and jumping over the wandering street cats and dogs. He couldn't wait to get home.

"Mother! Mother! Did you bake that pumpkin pie for the Halloween party yet?" He shouted as he pushed open the front door open.

He saw Lily crying into a handkerchief. She took a quick look at her son, and turned her head away. In her other hand was a cigarette that had yet to be lit.

Harry stopped and stared. His mother, never ever in his life had he seen his cheerful, always-laughing mother cry before. The thick coat of black eye-liner she had carefully applied around her eyes that morning, dripped down her chin, mixed with her tears, making it look as if she was crying ink.

"Mother?" Harry whispered. He knew that she saw him.

His father was sitting, or rather slumping, in the Italian sofa they had bought last year. James looked grave and his mouth was trembling as he took a puff of his pipe.

James never smoked pipes unless something was worrying him.

"Father?"

Harry closed the door. "Is everything alright?"

They didn't look like they had been fighting.

"Harry," James began, then shut his mouth as if he didn't want to say what he was about to say. Then, taking a deep breath, he choked out the words. "We lost all our money."

"What?" Harry whispered in disbelief.

* * *

"Coffee," Draco Malfoy, the blond, grey-eyed heir of the Malfoy Inc., cousin of John Rockefeller's uncle three times removed, son of the sixth richest man ever in the United States, the sexiest, most-wanted guy, though he preferred the English term 'bloke', by the ladies of his generation, snapped at the new butler. "No sugar but with extra milk. Make it French black."

"Fr-French black?" The poor old man stuttered. "I don't believe that I'm familiar with that term-"

"Come on, old man. You've never heard of French black?" Draco sneered at him. True, he was just teasing. There probably was no such thing as "French black" coffee. Even if there was, how would he know? He'd never been to France.

The son of the sixth richest man in the whole country had never been to France, and half of his family was from there. How embarrassing was that?

"With all due respect sir, no I've never heard of this 'French black'," the butler answered him as politely as possible.

"Then just get me regular coffee," Draco snapped, returning his eyes to the book he was reading.

"It's dinner time. Coffee is only for breakfa-"

"Who said so?!" Draco lost his patience, throwing the book down. "I'm the boss here! And if I want coffee for dinner, I'll get coffee for dinner. You've already ruined it by not knowing my favorite coffee!"

"So-sor-sorry sir. But I've only been here for a day and-"

"Get out of here," Draco snapped.

The butler walked quickly out of the room.

"Mother!" Draco shouted. "Mother are you there? _Mother_!" Draco hissed, after not hearing his mother answering for a minute. "Narcissa Black Malfoy!" He called his mother by her full name, knowing perfectly well what kind of reaction he would get. "Narcissa!"

"Don't call me that!" An angry blond woman with short-cut hair and deep red lipstick burst into the room wearing a loose pink dress. "I was trying on the new skirt I've just bought and you have to interrupt my moment! This better be good!"

"We need a new butler. This one is useless and stupid," Draco said.

"Watch your language young man," Narcissa snapped at her son. "The butler we've got is just fine." She walked out of the doorway. "And don't interrupt me again."

* * *

He was having his dinner up in his bedroom with the new woman he'd bought from the night club around the corner.

She was blond, pretty and reminded him too much of his mother when they were around his father. Not only that, but she was three years older than he was. So what! He was an eighteen year-old guy. What's wrong with bedding an older woman? Everybody was doing that.

Like his father, bedding young girls who were barely fourteen.

_I don't understand what are all you people protesting about? _Draco thought to himself, thinking of the sneer a maid had given him earlier that afternoon. _Both of my parents have their own side affairs. That's how rich people are._

"Open your mouth." The woman, whose name he did not know, held a forkful of chicken near his face, smiling dazzlingly up at him.

He smirked at her, then opened his mouth a little and-

"Draco!!" A voice thundered outside his room. He let out a groan as his father stormed in.

"Yes father?" Draco sighed.

He felt his father eyeing the woman on his bed before looking angrily at Draco. "I heard from your mother that you have had another conflict with our new butler."

"Father. That old man's head was as wide and empty as an asshole that's been fucked thirty times in a row. How could you expect me not to lose my nerves with him?" Draco pointed out as the woman giggled and smiled at his father. Draco glared at her. Dirty whore.

Lucius glared at his son. "Stop using such filthy languages."

The son responded to this by a roll of his eyes. "I'll say what I want. This is a free country."

"Well, you'd better put up with him or we're going to be without a butler for another month," Lucius said. "And I just want to inform you that we're going down south tomorrow down in the South to purchase that new bunch of stock from those loons Pettigrew introduced us to."

"Again?" Draco hated the train ride to the south. The ride from New York to Florida was very long and the train was just unbearable from the last time that Draco remembered it. "Can't I just stay here?"

"No, you can't, not if you want to be experienced enough to take over from me someday," Lucius said coldly. "That is still a long time from now, but it's always best to prepare early."

Draco scowled at his father.

"Oh, and my lady," Lucius' mood changed as he bowed to the slut on Draco's bed. "My most sincere apology to you for ruining your night here. My name is Lucius Malfoy, owner of Malfoy Inc."

The woman giggled, "Daisy."

Draco frowned. "Hey, I had her first!"

"Sorry son, Narcissa is preparing to go out at the moment and I would feel quite lonely alone." Then he turned back to Daisy. "Shall we?"

She giggled as her bob-cut hair bounced up and down. The door slammed.

"Damn you," Draco cursed.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"So what are we going to do now?" James asked. It was a Friday and James had just got home from work as an assistant secretary of a lawyer. In truth, he got had been fired. "Not only is our stock in Standard oil worthless, Sunbeam just shut down."

"Shut down," Lily echoed in an empty voice. Her eyes were empty, too. No tears. She'd been crying for two days straight. "Bank closed."

Harry was sitting on his wooden chair beside the glass table, looking deeply absorbed in his fourth year English Grammar Book. But really, he was listening to the conversation. The air in the room was dense, as if a thick fog had settled into the Potter's living room. The atmosphere was unpleasant. The mood was dark.

It set a rock in his stomach.

"We didn't even get to repay Tom Riddle back for that share of stock, Lily," James continued. "We never repaid the debt for the other stocks we bought either. Except for Standard Oil."

"Worthless now. Money gone," Lily said in that same empty voice. "Gone. All gone. Debts."

"And that new car we bought for your sister for Christmas last year, remember?" James said. "We borrowed the money from Tom, too."

"No more money." She didn't even sound grief as she took a cigarette from her pocket and lit it. The son and the father watched her as she put the head of the cigarette to her mouth and inhaled. She then exhaled, letting out a steam of grey smoke.

"That's better," she said with a small smile.

Harry wanted to cry. He'd never seen his mother like this. When Lily smoked, she'd talk, laugh, and tell jokes, like the young popular flapper she used to be before he married his father.

"Lily, you're not solving anything by smoking," James said. His hazel eyes reflected his concern and fear.

"I like it," Lily replied stonily. She stared at the ceiling and put her cigarette in her mouth again, inhaling and exhaling out a steam of grey smoke.

Harry couldn't take it any more. He got up, closed his book, and stormed out of the house.

* * *

"Ron," Harry said quietly, stepping into the front yard of his best friend's house. Ron was struggling with the second-handed, old lawnmower that Mr. Weasley had just recently obtained cheaply. His red hair reflected the rays of the sun as he glanced up at his best friend.

"Harry," Ron said, getting up. "You're out here, too?"

What does he mean by 'too'? "Why, isn't mowing lawns one of your chores?" Harry asked.

"For once, I'm thankful that it's my chore. I couldn't take them any more," Ron complained as he continued to struggle with the broken lawnmower."We lost a little money and now they're going berserk. It's not as if we even had much money to begin with. What happened over at your house?" He said, looking up at Harry. "The same thing I bet?"

Harry nodded. "Pretty much."

"I wonder how long we'll last in our house," Ron said truthfully. "We still haven't paid our last month's rent, and our rent this month is coming up pretty soon. We might all end up in the street."

"Your parents would never let that happen," Harry promised. The Weasleys loved their children. They would rather starve themselves than to let their kids live in a cardboard box. He was sure of it. He'd never seen two parents that loved their children as much as the Weasleys. They even treated Harry like their own son!

But as soon as he thought that, he heard a bang of a pot from the little house, followed by the shouting of Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley's sobbing.

"Heard that?" Ron pointed out. "We're not going to last. Stupid wires," He cursed as he continued to struggle with the lawnmower.

"At least they argue. Silence kills," Harry answered as he remembered the tension between his parents in their house. He'd much rather have them yelling and screaming like they did two days ago.

"You're right," Ron agreed, going around the machine. "So what's your plan?"

Harry's eyes, which had been looking at an earthworm, snapped up to meet his best friend's. "Plan? What plan?" Nobody had told him of any plans.

"You probably haven't heard of it yet. The plan is to save up your supplies. Then we're going to catch the train to the north and find jobs in some of the factories. There's bound to be jobs there. Anyway, I've been sort of saving food and money ever since my father announced the loss with King Steel. You should start as well. We will probably be out of here in a week," Ron predicted. " Ginny is starting too. And so are the twins and Percy."

Harry looked at his best friend like he was crazy. "Percy? What about your parents? You're just going to abandon them and run away with all their money?"

"Dad knows about it," Ron reassured. "It was his idea in the first place."

"And what about your mother?" Harry asked.

"She will cope with it once we're gone," Ron answered.

* * *

"Again!" Draco Malfoy shouted at his father. "You told me that the train was leaving today yesterday, and you told me that the train was leaving yesterday the day before yesterday, and the day before that you'd told me the same thing. What the hell are you trying to pull?"

"Nothing," Lucius answered simply as he took a sip of his creamed coffee, ignoring Draco's use of inappropriate language. He liked his coffee extra creamed, with floating marshmallows. "Absolutely nothing at all, except to prove that you're lazy and worthless."

"You don't know my price, old man," his son snarled.

"Forty-five isn't what I consider old, my son," Lucius said.

"Whatever. You better give me the correct time and date this time," Draco warned. "I'm sick of getting up early in the morning for absolutely nothing!"

"Get a real job," Lucius said.

"Don't mess with me. I don't really give a damn for the fact that you're my father," Draco sneered.

"If you think that you can live off some rich woman, Draco, you'd better think again. Respect doesn't come to men who whore for women," Lucius said. "So if you want to inherit this corporation, you'd better stop slacking right now. You have plenty of cousins who would love to own our business," he threatened.

Draco's jaw clenched tight at the threat. True, he had heard it millions of times in his life, but it never failed to anger him. "Just give me the right time," Draco snapped.

Lucius smirked. "Two days from now, first class, train F, in the Pennsylvania Station. Ten in the morning," he replied as he finished his coffee and walked out of the room. The clicking of his shoes reverberated in Draco's mind.

* * *

Harry lay on his bed that night, thinking of Ron's plan.

If he left, then what would become of his parents.? He was their only son, unlike the Weasleys, who had seven children and plenty of cousins. If he wouldn't leave, then he didn't know how long he would be able to stand living in his very own house. The money was all gone and there was nothing left to do since his father lost his job.

Lily Potter had grown cold. Harry had never seen his mother acting like this in his life. When he had come home at six that night, he had found his mother laughing - actually laughing, like a maniac. There had been three empty packs of cigarettes on the floor and a dozen smashed bottles of beer. The type with the seventeen percent alcohol. He had no idea where she had even got them. There weren't many speakeasies around the town open before six o'clock.

And his mother never drank more than four percent.

The radio had been turned on to a loud jazz music station and Lily had been dancing like a crazy drunk. In fact, that's exactly what she had been at the moment, a crazy drunk.

Harry had wanted to hit some sense into her, but he hadn't. Nothing he'd said had stopped her from drinking and opening up packs of cigarettes to smoke. She'd even tried to force him to have a sip of the vile drink, giggling, before he escaped her grasp and ran to his room.

Never ever had he seen her like this. But never had they had problems with money before.

His father was nowhere to be seen in the house at that moment.

Then Harry heard the front door open and sat up. It was James, he'd came home. Harry quickly scrambled out of the bed, hoping to talk to his father. But then...

"You still haven't found a job yet?" Lily spat at her husband. "What kind of man are you?"

Harry froze at the middle of the staircase. Lily's hair was wild and crazy and her lipstick was smeared all across her face. James looked at his wife as if he'd never met her before. "Lily what happened to you?" Harry's father looked at his son, who shook his head.

"She was like this when I came home," Harry whispered.

James looked back at his wife, who shot him a nasty look. "Well? Job yet? Don't expect me to feed you James."

"I don't," James said, choking on his own words. "Lily, there's no need to fret over a little money-"

"A _LITTLE_ MONEY! DID YOU HEAR THAT, HARRY? HE SAID THAT WAS A LITTLE MONEY!" Lily shrieked. "THAT WASN'T JUST A LITTLE MONEY, YOU BASTARD!! THAT WAS OUR ENTIRE LIFE SAVING! EVERYTHING WE'VE WORKED FOR!! YOU CALL THAT A LITTLE MONEY!?"

"Lily-"

"WELL WHERE'S THE REST? IF THAT WAS ONLY A LITTLE, THEN WHERE IS THE REST OF IT, HUH, JAMES?" Her chest heaved up and up and her face was red with indescribable anger. "I didn't marry you to live on the streets," she hissed. "I don't marry failures."

Harry's stomach clenched. If there had been any love left at all in this house, it was gone now.

"Harry, go upstairs to your room," James said, never taking his eyes off his wife. The grown man's lips were pale and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at Lily. His fist tightened into a ball, knuckles white.

"But-"

"Now!" James commanded.

"Don't hit Mother please," Harry whispered.

"_Now_!"

* * *

"I think that I'm ready to leave," Harry whispered to Ron the next afternoon. It was the first time in his life that he had been grateful for school. "I can't take them any more. My mother is at the hospital with a dislocated jaw and a broken arm, and it's my father's fault. Is there any way that we can leave now? I don't want to go home, Ron."

Ron stared at his best friend. "Dislocated jaw and a broken arm? Your father beat your mother?"

Harry nodded. Ron took a note that his best friend's eyes were red. "That must have been terrible for you last night. Are you OK?"

"I survived," Harry whispered. He sounded broken down, like he had been the one beaten. Ron looked at Harry with concern.

"I'll see what we can do. I'll ask Percy for a train schedule. You should go home now and pack some things up. Take your money- you still have some of the money that you hid left, don't you?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Then we'll catch the next train north. I think the twins are ready to go, too. And Ginny," he looked around the small classroom at his siblings. They nodded at him.

Harry smiled.

* * *

Early in the morning the next day, Harry slung a school bag over his shoulder. He glanced back at his house once more as he closed the front gate. There were no lights on. His father was asleep and his mother was still in the hospital.

He'd written a note, leaving it on the kitchen table for his father. He'd packed all his money, twelve dollars in total, with some of his best clothes and a coat. He had a few extra pairs of socks in his schoolbag, but only the shoes he was wearing. He had silently taken a shower and put on his nicest-smelling clothes. It would be a long time from now when he could take any showers again.

He silently took off on the empty street, preparing to meet his friends in the town's park, under the oak tree which they had celebrated the last fourth of July together.

The Weasley siblings, minus Charlie and Bill, who were already long gone from home, were all there waiting for him. There was also Dean Thomas, a negro kid around his age that Harry was sort of friends with. Dean lived very near Harry and his parents in a wooden house. Harry blinked, surprised that he was there. Of course, Percy probably invited Dean to come with them.

Ginny smiled and waved at him. Her entire freckle-covered face seemed to light up with her wide, beautiful smile and her dazzling teeth- one of the main reasons why Harry liked her.

Ron scowled at his sister and dragged Harry to the group. "Come on, we've got to catch Train D and then switch to train F in Pennsylvania. No time to lose, it's going in an hour."


	3. Chapter 3

"Train F is leaving in five minutes. I repeat, Train F is leaving in five minutes. All Train F passengers aboard the train now. Train F is now leaving in four minutes! Thank you," shouted a train conductor. Draco scowled at the man.

"As if I can't read a schedule," He muttered under his breath and felt a tug at his sleeve. He looked down to find a small girl about six, her hands held up as if asking for something. Was she lost? "What are you looking at, brat? Where are your mother and father?" he said to the little girl.

The girl backed off as if she was suddenly scared. Draco blinked at her and smoothed his black suit. Did he dress wrong, or were girls afraid of the color black? Humph. He could never understand the poor people and their strange habits.

"Train F is leaving in one minute. Passengers be seated. Train F is leaving in forty-five seconds!" another conductor shouted as Draco picked up his suitcase and ran for the train.

"And this is supposed to be the first-class," he muttered under his breath. "I heard that in England, the train waits for you, not the other way around. Some great nation we are here."

He found his compartment in the train right beside Lucius, who was wearing a black tie with a dark blue suit. "Nice compartments," he snarled at his father, as if it was Lucius' fault for having such a stupid and small compartment.

Lucius glared at his son. "You have been very spoiled ever since the day you were born, Draco. I hope you will learn a lesson from this trip."

Draco barked a laugh. His father? Teaching _him_ a lesson? Please. "Get your own life together, old man."

* * *

"Train D," Ron Weasley said, looking at the piece of paper in his hand. "Father said train D. Or he wrote it," he said to Harry. "I hope I read it right. Percy said that they ran out of train schedule copies at the train station. And father said Train D. But he has really messy handwriting-"

"Ron, I don't care," Harry said quietly.

Ron Weasley looked up at his best friend. "Don't care about what?"

"I just want to get away from here. I don't care which train I ride on," Harry said. "And I think that train D is leaving in a minute. Where are the others?"

"They're at the public toilets," Ron answered, "They'd better be back here soon."

"Here we are."

Ron and Harry turned around to see their friends.

"Well," Dean said. "What are we waiting for?"

They all rushed into the steaming train that took off, right at the last minute, scrambling inside for seats and something to hold on to. There was a lot of "Sorry" and "Excuse me" going on before all of them were settled.

Ron stared at the piece of paper in his hand again. "Seven more hours till we arrive in Pennsylvania. Did you bring any food, Harry?"

Harry flushed. He had everything but food. "Not really," he muttered. "I've got money, if that helps."

Ron nodded. "Money could help us a lot. Only right now, there's nothing to buy here in Train D. There will be food in train F, it's first class. Things are going to be more expensive in there, of course, but we can't wait. We haven't brought any food either."

"Wait, but I thought you saved up food," Harry said.

"Not really, just our money. Father wanted us to take the food too, but... He's without a job. So, I thought that we'd leave the food with our parents. There's always the garden so they won't get hungry or anything. We won't need much food in the North, Harry. Everything up there is about money, not food," Ron explained like he was the expert of the northern world. Harry snorted at his cockiness and shook his head, earning a scowl from Ron.

"Well you also said that Train F is a first class train. How are we going to pay for first class?" Harry said.

"We don't." Ron's voice suddenly turned into a whisper.

"We-"

"You can't let anyone hear this Harry," Ron hissed as his hand suddenly covered Harry's mouth. "If anyone in this train is nosey and decides to turn us in, we'd miss the opportunity, you hear?"

Harry nodded.

"We're going to creep to the back side of the train and ride it to New York. It's as simple as that," Ron hissed.

"But that's illegal," Harry hissed back.

"Screw that."

"The police could catch us."

"Do you want to stay here?" Ron asked.

"No."

Ron didn't look at him again. Harry glanced around the train, trying to find the other Weasleys. They were easy to spot with their red hair. Ginny was sitting with a nice-dressed young woman. The Weasley twins were sitting next to each other, cracking up jokes, causing the people around them having to constantly glare at the two troublemakers. Percy was at a metal pole, still as a statue.

Dean... Dean Thomas wasn't holding a pole or anything. The black boy was trying to balance on the rocking train, sweating nervously. The people around him didn't give Dean a second look, but if they did, Harry was sure that the looks wouldn't be very welcoming. Harry felt a little sorry for poor Dean.

He was black. In the neighborhood, he was often teased and beaten up by a lot of other older kids who were out looking for fun, because he was a negro kid without a father, but mostly because he was black. Dean rarely came out of his house – Harry almost never saw him and had only spoken to him twice - each a decent conversation before he had been called away. Dean's only friends were the twins. Harry didn't even consider Dean a friend because of what his parents said about them. "Like black dots on white paper," Lily had commented once when Harry had asked. "When too many unwanted black dots get on white paper Harry, the paper's useless."

"Watch it," someone snapped at Dean, when the boy accidentally stepped on the man's foot.

"Dean," Harry said quietly. The boy looked up. His bottom lip trembled a bit. "Dean, do you want to sit here?" He motioned to the seat he was sitting on.

"I-"

"If you don't want to sit there boy then I want to," the man that Dean had stepped on snapped at Harry. "I've got to go to work and I ain't going to with a pair of tired feet. Not to mention a sore toe caused by some nigger." He said this and glared at Dean, who looked away.

Harry got up and let the man sit down. He grabbed on one of the poles and led Dean to it.

"Thanks Harry," Dean muttered.

Harry smiled. "It's fine."

* * *

Harry shifted back and forth on his feet. Ron had told him that the seven hours were almost over. The amount of people on the train hadn't decreased at all, but continued to come and go in herds of the same size. Harry growled. Why wouldn't just everybody just leave?

"Next stop. Square Street, Harrisburg," the announcer said.

"That's our stop," Ron muttered grumpily. He had been sleeping, and, knowing Ron, he didn't like to be interrupted.

The Weasley twins jumped up excitedly and Ginny stood up to exercise her stiff legs.

Harry grumbled in complaint as the group got off the train. Ron took out the instruction that Mr. Weasley had written them.

"Next train is F," he said.

"Are you-"

"-sure that's train-"

"F?"

"It looks like-"

"E," said the Weasley twins.

"I'm sure," snapped Ron, who was still grumpy.

The twins shrugged. "Train F it is," they said at the same time and grinned at each other.

"Everybody got their stuff?" Percy asked.

"Oh my god Percy, you're asking-" said one of the twins.

"-us that after the train has already left," finished the other.

Percy winced. "Stop talking like that, alright? You two are giving me a headache."

"All right, all right!" said the twins.

"Train F is leaving in ten minutes according to the clock right above us," Ginny pointed out. "We'd better hurry."

* * *

"I don't like this. We're riding a train without train tickets. First-class," Harry muttered.

"Look Harry, if you-"

"Chicken out-"

"You can always-"

"Jump off."

"Shut up, you two," Harry said as he grabbed a hold on the bar. "I'm doing this Ok?"

"Ah, brave man."

"Fred," Harry snapped.

"I'm George."

"Whatever."

"_I'm_ whatever."

"Just shut up."

"Train F is moving now," the announcer said.

* * *

_Curse this stupid train. And curse whoever invented i__t__. _Draco thought as he kept hearing pounding on the roof of Train F. His food would be cold; he just knew it. And it was all because Lucius, the cheapskate, rented the compartment at the back of the train, where the food was delivered last and where they were left with the worst blankets.

_Some first class, _Draco thought for the hundredth time that day as he heard the sounds of pounding move. "Lucius!" he shouted, causing the other man to slide open his compartment door and glare at his son.

"What is it this time?"

"There's pounding on the roof."

"And what's wrong with that?" Lucius snapped.

"I'm trying to sleep here. I've got to travel all the way down to Florida and I'm not doing it without sleep," Draco complained.

"I'm going to Florida, too. And if I can sleep in this noise, then so can you," Lucius snapped and slammed his compartment door shut. Draco hissed and decided to investigate himself.

_Whoever is making that noise, you are so dead!!_

* * *

"Harry hold on, I've got your hand," Harry heard Ron say as he felt his best friend tug at him. "Just hold on a minute."

"I'm trying," Harry complained. "God Ron, I thought we would be riding _inside _the train!"

"Can't," Percy said. "There are too many people in there. We have to change plans."

"Thanks a lot,"Harry scowled as he felt the train start. "That really helps Percy."

"No harm done with a little explanation," Percy shrugged. Harry glared at his best friend's brother, before saying, "Now give us some real help and get me up there- ah!" he suddenly screamed.

"Harry!" Ron shouted, reaching down further. "Oh my lord!! Harry!! You're not dead are you?"

"Don't worry. Your friend is fine," a new voice said. Ron hung upside down on the train to meet a man with silver eyes and blond hair. Harry was knocked unconscious beside him. The man scowled at him. "But your little gang is interrupting my sleep."


	4. Chapter 4

Ron Weasley stared at the man below him. "Interrupting your sleep?" he asked. "What? What did we do? We're just trying to get my friend up here. We didn't do anything."

Draco smirked at the redhead. "You know very well that I could turn you in."

Harry groaned and stirred on the floor as his eyes cracked open. "Ron, what's going- Uh, hi sir," he said as he saw Draco.

"Uh, we'll be going right now." Harry grabbed at the bar, only to be tugged down by a strong hand. He fell on the floor again. "What's your problem?!" he snapped, not longer trying to be polite.

The blond man sneered at him as he grabbed Harry by the collar, producing a stream of protests from Ron. "First, your little group is riding this train illegally. Second, you're thundering up and down the train, interrupting people who should be sleeping. And third, you dare to question me??"

"Why not?"

"Don't you ignorant hobos know who I am?"

Harry's face flushed with anger. "We're not hobos," he snapped. "Now if you'd be so kind and let go of my collar."

Draco let go, still glaring at the messy-haired younger boy. Harry's shirt was a mess and his jeans were a bit dirty. "You look pretty much like a hobo to me."

"I'm no hobo!!"

"Harry, ignore him," Ron said, trying to pry his best friend from starting a fight. "Come on, Harry. We can't afford being thrown off this train, we've got to get to New York."

Harry didn't listen. "He called us hobos!!"

"Harry Potter. Get up here," said Ginny, who suddenly appeared right beside Ron. Draco raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed, which made Harry glare at Draco even more.

"Look, mister. I don't care who you are-"

"Did your friend say that you're _going_ to New York?" Draco asked, suddenly interested.

"Yes," said Ron with hesitation. "What's it to you."

"Oh nothing really," Draco replied with humour in his voice. "Nothing at all, except for the fact that I'm pretty sure that this train is going straight to Sarasota, Florida. And after that, it's making a direct trip to Utah. It's not turning back to New York for another month." The rest of the Weasleys and Dean popped their heads down, their eyes widened. "It's amazing, you're planning to live on top of this train for a month without getting caught. I applaud your daring and bravery. And your stupidities are most admirable."

"What?" said Harry breathlessly, then shook his head, ignoring the snarky comments. "You're wrong. This is the train to Manhattan, New York."

"No," said Draco, still smiling. "This is the train _from_ Manhattan, New York."

Everybody looked at Ron, whose face was green, as if he was sick. "But- but my father told me that-"

"Your father obviously can't read."

Ron's face turned from green to red. "Whatever. Harry, get up here," he said and disappeared from sight. "Fred are you alright- ewwww."

Harry was instead staring at the blond with panic written on his face. Draco was smirking, staring right back at him.

"Don't get caught. It'd be such a waste," he said, leaning closer to the younger boy, who backed off. The man didn't move any further away, only getting closer. Draco's breath on his ear made Harry shiver with both delight and fear. Then he was gone, leaving Harry holding onto the rail, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"Harry!!"

* * *

"What happened up here?" Harry said, wrinkling up his nose. He then spotted a white trail down the side of the train and groaned with disgust. Fred Weasley groaned too, but for a different reason. "Are you alright Fred?"

"I'm George," Fred groaned again.

"Hey," said his twin.

It was silent for a moment as the train went under a dark tunnel. Everybody's eyes were once again on Ron, whose face flushed with embarrassment. "Um, listen-"

"No, it's alright Ron," Percy said. "It's not our fault that Dad wrote it down wrong. Everybody makes mistakes."

"But- but." Ron's eyes suddenly started to water, earning surprised looks from his companions. "There are no jobs in Florida. That's why we were going to New York, to find jobs," he said.

Ginny scowled at her older brother. "Ron, you're a man. What are you crying for? We can find jobs down in Florida, and we're going to be just as rich as that snotty man." She looked at Harry. "Right?"

"Right," everybody said.

"Right," Harry said, a few moments later, causing him to earn a glance from Ginny. He knew that the question was meant for him, even if Ginny didn't direct it at him directly. Fred started throwing up again.

* * *

_"Don't get caught. It'd be such a waste."_

Harry's whole body shivered again as he, once again, imagined the man's breath against his ear. What the fuck was that?

_"Don't get caught."_

_I won't get caught._

_"It'd be such a waste."_

_A waste. I'm not going to be a waste._

There it was, the shiver again. He hated it. Who did that guy think he was anyway? Calling him a hobo. He was not a hobo. He didn't wander around the streets**,** at least not yet. He was going to get a job. And he was going to marry Ginny.

_Why are you thinking about marriage right now?. If you don't get a job, how can you support even yourself, much less a whole family and a house. What about all those things that Ginny might want? How are you even going to buy_ _a wedding ring? Or throw a big wedding?_

Ginny would want a big wedding with a grand cake and a white puffy wedding dress. She had told Harry that a long time ago, a few years back. And she'd want a car of her own and a house with multiple bedrooms, unlike the little cottage that her family lived in.

Ginny would want all of that. But how was he going to get it? She was definitely not pleased with the condition that Harry was in right now.

_"It'd be such a waste_."

Harry shivered again. Shut up, he told the voice.

That man. Rich. An aristocrat. Probably has a summerhouse in Spain or France or something along with a huge mansion in devil knows where. Rolling in gold and money. He could steal Ginny with a glance, and dump her when he found someone better.

"I thought that you heard something up on the roof, Mr. Malfoy. I'm here to investigate-"

"There's no need," said the man's voice. "It turned out to be an acorn. Nothing at all to worry about. Go about your duties."

He had lied.

"Well. Have a good night, or day, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yeah, you too."

He had lied!!

_"Don't get caught."_

_Why did you lie?_

* * *

"Harry."

"Huh..."

"Harry Potter."

"Wh-what?"

"Wake up, Harry we're there," snapped Ginny's voice.

"Wha-what? Already?" Harry said, sitting up. The wind was blowing at his face. "Hey we're not there."

"No we're not," said Ginny. "We're planning to jump off."

Harry, who was rubbing his eyes, suddenly stopped. "What?"

"You heard me. We're jumping off," Ginny said.

"Who said so?"

"Percy," she answered. "We have to if we don't want to get caught. I don't even know how we managed through last night. For a moment, I thought that that guy called the cops on us."

"We didn't get caught because he lied," Harry wanted to say. But that would be strange. The man was surely disgusted with them.

"What time is it?"

"Nine in the morning," said Ron. Harry finally noticed that everybody was up. "The train is stopping at nine thirty. It's going to slow down when it arrives at its stop in Florida. Slow enough for us to jump off without any major injuries."

"That's insane," Harry commented.

"You'd rather get caught?"

"No."

Percy shook his head and ran a hand through his red hair. "Who knows what that guy last night is planning right now, Harry. So we have to leave as soon as possible. Do we have all our things, Dean?"

"Nothing fell off, Mr. Weasley."

"Call him Percy. You're a free man, Dean. There's no need to get all Mister or Master here," said George, grinning. Dean made a small smile back.

"It's polite."

Fred groaned. "I'm getting off first."

"Suit yourself," Ron muttered.


	5. Chapter 5

"So," said Ron in a cheerful tone. " That wasn't so bad, right?"

Ginny glared at her brother while rubbing her sore arm. "I nearly broke my arm. But you're right. It wasn't so bad," she said sarcastically.

Fred groaned and rolled back and forth on the ground. His face was still green. "My stomach," he moaned.

Dean lay ten feet away from Harry, trying to gather up all their things. Harry got up quickly and dusted the dirt off his clothes. "OK, so we're in Florida somewhere. Sarasota, anybody heard of this place?"

They all shook their heads no and sighed.

Harry wanted to go home. Not two days on the road and he already missed his town. He missed the smell of his mother's home baked pies and the smell of her soft perfumes. He missed hearing the slamming of the doors made by his father every time he came back from work. He missed being rich.

He really wanted things back the way they were before. Heck, he would never complain about school again.

But if he went back, Lily would probably still be in the hospital with a large hospital fee that still needed to be paid. The house might probably be already filled with smoke from James' pipe. And there would be more beer bottles, seeing that James would be drinking. Or worse, Harry might find a completely new woman sleeping in his parents' bed.

Harry looked up at the sky, then back down at his friends. _And none of us even have a clue about what Sarasota is like._

"So," Percy suddenly said and cleared his throat. "Everybody's just fine right? No major injuries-"

"I have a bad case of I-need-to-puke-now flu," Fred interrupted and moaned, clutching his stomach. "For real."

Percy gave a tired sigh. "Vomit later."

"Can't," Fred managed to get out before puking on the ground right beside Ginny, who made a face and got up to sit beside Ron.

"Fred, that's just gross," she commented.

"I'm George."

"Hey," warned his twin.

Percy shook his head. "Can we get down to business?"

* * *

"Man, this is expensive," Ron commented as he tore off a chunk of French bread from the loaf. "In Virginia, this only cost ten cents."

"Be grateful that we didn't end up in California, Ron," grumbled Fred as he stuffed a piece into his mouth greedily. "An apple pie there is like a million dollars a slice."

"At least we could dig gold."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Who believes in that anymore? California gold, please. Just remember what happened to great-great uncle Arnold, Ron. The best chance for us now is to find jobs, not to dig for gold in California and end up being buried in a collapsed gold mine."

"Mum said that Dad was only joking. Uncle Arnold was a carpenter in Maine!" Ron shouted.

"No! He died digging gold," Ginny shouted back.

"He-"

"Uncle Arnold was a carpenter in Maine," Percy corrected, rubbed his forehead and sighed at his younger siblings' childishness. "It was Uncle Frederick from Mum's side who died in a gold mine. Resulting the first half of our family's nightmare." He nodded towards Fred, who was comsuming his share like a wolf. "To tell you the truth guys, I don't think that working here is a possibility anymore here. On my way to the bakery, I saw a waiting line of women, for a job as a dishwasher that only pays fifty cents an hour. And a small group of shacks down the end of the street."

Ginny suddenly stood up. "Let's go to New York."

George snorted. "That was our original plan and look what happened."

"Are you suggesting that we _beg_?" she shouted and stomped her foot. The boys looked at each other with uncertainty. "That was not the reason I came with you guys!"

"Ginny calm down," Percy said. "We've only been out here for two days, give us a chance."

Ginny glared at him but sat down besides Harry again.

"I'm sorry Gin," Harry whispered.

"I- it's alright," she said. "I just don't want... I mean, we've been poor for our entire lives after our stupid grandfather lost that stupid bet... I don't want to be poor anymore." She looked at Harry. "You can understand that,can't you? You used to be rich."

Those words stung Harry. _You used to be rich._ "Ye- yeah. But I'm going to be rich again. Don't worry."

Ginny smiled at him, but for some reason, that warming smile just made him feel colder than ever.

She trusted him to give her a good life. But could he do that?

Ten minutes later, the loaf of French bread was eaten and they had picked up whatever crumbs that were left.

They all gathered around and counted their changes.

"Ron has three dollars and forty-eight cents," Percy counted. "Harry still has eleven dollars and thirty-three cents. I have five dollars exact. Ginny has seven dollars and eight cents. Fred has one dollar. George has one dollar. Dean has ... twenty-seven dollars?"

Everybody glanced at the black boy, who shrugged his shoulders.

"And then there's the sixty-four dollars from dad," Percy finished. "The total will be... exactly one hundred and nineteen dollars and eighty-nine cents."

"That's a lot of money," commented George as he stared at the pile in front of them. "Let's split it." Fred nodded in agreement.

"No way," Percy snapped. "You guys contributed the least, don't think that you can profit from this. Now, we only got one hundred and nineteen dollars. That will take care of us for two months if we spend it only on food. An apartment will be out of the question." He shot a warning glare at the twins. "We might have to use public showers."

Ginny cringed.

"Either that, or find work. We need to settle down before winter comes, even if we're talking about winter in Florida," Percy said. "And no goofing around."

"Yes master Percy," Fred teased.

* * *

"That was the fifth shop that we got kicked out of," Fred scowled. "Ginny is right. Let's just go to New York. I hate this place. Mosquitoes every where and everything is dirty."

Ron shrugged. "I know."

"Maybe we should go our own separate ways to find work? We did go in there all at the same time," Harry suggested.

"We might get lost," Percy said.

"So, where do we sleep?" Ginny asked.

"I don't know."

People on the streets were beginning to look suspiciously at the gang's numerous backpacks and red hair.

"I really hate this place," Fred said again. "Sarasota. Even the name sounds stupid. "

"We need a place to sleep. The sun is setting," Ginny pointed out. "And to think that I'm going to sleep in one of those alleyways. I'm a girl and I don't like to smell like a dumpster. And we're going to look weird, bunch of teenagers sleeping together. They might think we're runaways or juvenile delinquents."

"I think they already think we are," Dean said as he saw a uniformed Florida police coming towards them. "Should we just face him or run?"

Percy sighed. "Let me do it."

"Hello youngsters," the cop greeted."I can see that you're not from this part o' the town. Whatcha doin' here."

Percy smiled his best smile. "Well, me and my friends... and siblings are on a job hunt. But uh... right now, we're just trying to find somewhere to stay for the night."

"Well, the motel is six blocks down and three to the left from where we're. But get there quick, or people will start to think you're trouble," the officer said. "Good luck."

They all watched as he walked away.

"That was pretty nice," Harry commented. "Let's hope all police officers are like that."

"No way, mate. And no way we can afford a motel," Ron said. "Aren't they like twenty bucks for a night?"

"Then where can we go?" Ginny threw up her hands and sighed. "I am NOT sleeping in an alleyway!"

"But we already agreed on no motels or apartment," Percy stated firmly. "We only have one hundred and nineteen dollars for seven people and every penny counts. Spending it on a motel is a total waste."

"I don't care as long as we have a proper place to sleep," Ginny snapped.

"We're not rich," Percy said. "We've got to manage."

"And it's my fault?!" Ginny shouted, causing many people to look over.

"Ginny, we'll think of something," Harry assured.

"Are you saying it's mine?!" Percy shouted back.

"Ooohhh. They're going to fight," Fred whispered to George, who grinned and nodded.

"No I'm not. But the least you can do, is to find us a place to sleep so we won't be gawked at like pigs!" Ginny said.

Her oldest brother threw up his arms. "Fine. You want to act like you're rich, fine by me."

Ginny was satisfied.

* * *

"Thirty dollars," Percy grumbled. "That only leaves us eighty-nine dollars and eighty-nine cents. Room number eighty-nine."

"Oooohhh eighty-nine." Fred nudged George and they both giggled. "Our new, unlucky number." Everybody ignored them.

"At least it was the biggest room, and thirty dollars was for seven people," Dean pointed out. "And it's good for three nights instead of one. That's a very good deal."

"Thirty divided by seven is..."

"Around four dollars something," Dean answered.

"And for each night it would be only a little more than a dollar," Percy grumbled. "Here it is, room eighty**-**nine." He opened the front door.

The room was pretty large, with two separate beds. The floor was made of polished pinewood and the room was connected with a separate bathroom.

"Hope you're happy, princess Ginevra." Percy glared at his younger sister. "Enjoy while you can. We're only here for three days before we start to sleep in those dark alleyways with all the rats."

Ginny ignored him and marched right in to claim one of the beds. "I'm taking a shower."

Percy went in next to claim the remaining bed, and snapped at the rest of them. "Well, are you just going to stand there like a bunch of morons or are you going to come inside."

They all looked at each other and came in.

"I've claimed this spot!" Fred said.

"No way!" George shouted. "That's my spot."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not"

"Is to-"

"Stop it!" Ginny snapped as she stepped out of the bathroom. "You're giving everybody a headache!"

"Yes mother," George sneered. As soon as he said that, tears filled Ginny's eyes. She jumped onto her bed and put the cover over her head. "What did I do this time," George growled. "All I said was 'yes mo-' ...ther Oh. Sorry."

There was a dread silence after that, which was interrupted by a small sob from Ginny.

"I'm taking a shower," Harry said.

* * *

He was dressed in a pair of loose blue jeans and a loose, thin shirt. His hair was wet when he stepped outside the bathroom. "I'm going for a walk, OK?"

Percy turned around. "Harry it's late."

"I know. I just want to walk. I'll be back."

The older boy sighed. "Do what you want."

Harry let out a breath of relief as he stepped outside the motel. The fresh air cleared his mind of worry. In the dark, there was no Ginny, no Lily, no James, no problems.

He started to walk aimlessly, not afraid of getting lost. No one knew him here. His friends were not with him.

He could cry and nobody wandering on the street would care. And so he shrunk into a dark alleyway and cried.

Tears rolled down his face as if he'd never cried before. His wail echoed around the empty alleyway. He missed Virginia. He wanted to be there. He didn't want to be in Florida or New York. He didn't want to take a job. He didn't want to confront police officers or to be looked down upon as a hobo.

"Awww. Just look at that." Harry looked up, startled. "It's the hobo leader again."

"You."

Draco's lips curled up into a smirk as he leaned against the wall of the alleyway in front of Harry. "Aren't you glad to see me?"


	6. Chapter 6

Harry stared at Draco, who was dressed in his black suit and tie. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a dead tone.

"Oh, Business," Draco replied lightly, as if he bumped into Harry every day when he was on business.

"Then go about it," Harry snapped. "Why are you wasting time talking to me when you could be robbing people of their money?"

"Because I find you fun to talk to," Draco smirked. "And I don't rob."

Harry gave him a cold look and got up, took some more steps in the dark alleyway and sat down again. This time, he faced towards the end of the alleyway, away from Draco. He didn't look at the blond or give any sort of reply. He didn't want to be bothered by a rich person who was out here to show off his wallet.

"Why are you running away from a conversation, hobo? Can't even stand talking to a man about a perfectly normal topic?" Draco called out to him. Harry felt his blood boiled at the word "hobo". But he sat still, unaffected by the blond's attempt to get him started.

"Chicken?"

Harry didn't answer to the insult.

"Oh, I get it. You're scared." He could hear the man's footsteps, the sound of Draco's expensive leather shoes moving closer and closer. "Aren't you?" The voice sounded to be much closer now. A little too close.

Harry got up and turned to face Draco, his face wore an icy, emotionless look. "Go pick on somebody else, money bag. I'm not that easy a target just because I'm younger than you. And I don't have time for fights," He snapped, his fist ready and poised in case Draco decided to pound him.

Instead, Draco tossed his head and laughed. "You look like that you _do_ have the time. But who said that I'm looking for a fight."

He suddenly pushed Harry to the wall. And before Harry could do anything, Draco pinned the younger boy's body firmly and leaned forward. "And you know what? You're a very easy target," he hissed into Harry's ear. The blond cupped Harry's face and forced him to face him. Then he covered Harry's mouth with his own.

Harry's eyes widened in shock as his body went still for a minute, unable to grasp the fact that another man was kissing him. He'd gone numb by the suddenness of it all. Then when he finally grasped on, he began to fight. He started thrashing his legs wildly, hoping to bruise Draco. He turned his head this way and that, and swung his arms wildly, punching Draco anywhere he could possibly reach.

None of it worked.

Draco held his hand captive, and slammed his head harder against the wall, hard enough to make Harry dizzy, and grounded their hips together. Harry felt himself harden at the other Male's erection. Then Draco licked his bottom lip, demanding him to part his lips.

Harry's lips remained firmly shut, unwilling to respond to any of this. He, or his lips, was suddenly released.

He stared into Draco's lust-clouded, angry eyes and shivered.

"Open your mouth," came the commanding words.

"No," Harry answered through gritted teeth. He was not about to do anything for a man who thought he could just come into his life like that and slam him against a wall. And ravish him like he was some kind of a man whore.

A hand suddenly pinched one of his nipples and Harry screamed. Draco took this chance and shoved his tongue into Harry's mouth. The brunette's teeth suddenly clamped down on it, forcing Draco to withdraw.

"What the fuck did you just do?!" Draco snarled in a tone that could make a tiger back down.

"What the fuck did _you_ just do?!" Harry snarled in the same tone. "You fucking twisted, disgusting... faggot homo!!"

Draco sneered at him. "Can't come up with better terms?"

"Get away from me!" Harry hissed. "Go bother some woman from the club down the block. They'd be more willing. And it'd look more right than this!!"

"Awww," Draco cooed and cupped Harry's face once again. "I'm so glad that you're concerned about how I looking wrong just makes this so much more exciting, don't you think?"

"No!" Harry shouted and made an attempt to lunge at the blonde's neck. His hands were stopped as Draco held him by the wrists. His heart was beating frantically. "Go away! I'm just a kid! What are you doing to me?!"

Draco's face grew hard. "I was fucking when I was thirteen, and if I could, then so can you." He claimed Harry's mouth again as his hand went under Harry's shirt and pinched the same nipple he had pinched before. He felt the young boy's mouth part for a scream and darted his tongue right in, muffling the sound.

His hand, finished with what it had intended to do, was brought out and moved towards Harry's jeans. He pulled them down.

Draco ended the kiss and smirked at the breathless Harry, who watched him with great confusion and fear. "Ready to have the time of you life?"

"No. Please no. Leave me alone," the young boy whimpered.

Draco's hand gently cupped Harry's swollen erection and began a rhythm of stroking. He felt his own cock tingle and he wanted to come out of his trousers. But he couldn't. Lucius would question why his trousers were so wet and dirty.

"It will be gentle stuff. I don't like rough things when I don't have a bed," Draco assured as he watched a single tear roll down Harry's face. He pulled down Harry's underwear and began his "gentle doings."

Harry's knees buckled as he felt a hot mouth covered his cock. He sighed and moaned as the tongue twirled around his head. His body arched and he heard himself let out a soft moan.

Dammit!! He was getting a blow from another man!! This was not right, not right at all!!

The thought was interrupted when Draco made a small humming sound that made his entire body vibrate. Then he couldn't think at all.

"God.." he gasped as he pulled at Draco's hair and felt Draco's lips curve into a smirk. The mental image of the smirk around him hardened him even more, and his knees completely gave in, making him collapse onto the ground. White substance leaked out of his member and into Draco's mouth.

The older man quickly swallowed the cum and his mouth left Harry's cock. He leaned closer to Harry's face and gently placed a kiss on the brunette's lips, letting Harry taste himself. "That wasn't so bad now was it?" he asked softly.

"Stop touching me."

Draco snarled and slammed his lips for the third time against the fourteen-year-old boy's. He kneeled down beside Harry and touched the still wet cock, his lips never leaving new-found partners. Just like that, Draco went pass the cock and forced two fingers in.

The little boy beneath him let out a muffled yelp and widened his terrified green eyes, which Draco met with a pair of devilish, lustful ones.

He moved his two fingers around, feeling the strangeness of it. He had never been with another guy before. The only ones that he had felt before were women's. It didn't feel much different, after all, it worked the same way.

He let go of Harry's lips once more, and took out the two digits. The brunette glared at him with pure loathing and anger. "Get away from me, you sick-"

"Shut up," Draco snapped. "I had enough from you. I'll go about my business now, little boy."

Harry ground his teeth and watched as Draco pulled something out of his back pocket. He tossed it on the ground. "For your time," he said and walked away.

Harry quickly pulled up his pants, which were, thankfully, untouched by the cum and the sweat. He sighed and wiped his eyes dry and picked up what Draco had tossed on to the ground. It was a hundred dollar bill.

That fucking bastard!! _He thinks that he can__ just play me like that?!_ Harry thought as he choked on his tears. "Fucking Bastard. Go to hell."

* * *

Percy stared, apparently in shock of what he saw in Harry's hand. "Where did you get that hundred dollar bill?!" He asked with pure amazement. The gang all sat up from their sleeping spots at the words 'hundred dollar bill.'

Harry shrugged. "I found it on the ground while I was taking my walk."

He had wanted to rip it up. It was filthy money and he somehow just couldn't stand looking at it. But money is money, and what they needed the most at that time was money.

"On the ground," Percy echoed.

"Yeah."

"Harry, what happen to your lips?" Ginny suddenly asked, turning all the attention on Harry's bruised lips and the tiny, but noticeable bump on the back of his head.

"Oh. Some gang here just decided to pick a fight. No big deal," Harry answered quickly. "I'll just shower again. To wash the dirt off. It's really no big deal," he added as he noticed Ginny's deep frown. "It'll heal by tomorrow."

Percy nodded.

Harry went and took another shower.


	7. Chapter 7

The rest of the three days had gone by in a blur. And to Ginny's disappointment, Percy had decided to move out of the motel instead of staying longer with the hundred dollar bill that Harry had "found" on the ground. But she didn't complain this time. She knew that they had already had the luxury and in those three days; none of them was successful in finding a permanent job.

There were random people that had asked for them to mow their lawns or to shovel leaves, or some other one-off jobs. But all of the real ones were taken. Either that, or the owners said that they weren't fit for kids like them.

"This town stinks like pig crap," Ron muttered under his breath. "And they called Percy a kid. Percy is the one person in the whole world that's least like a kid."

His oldest brother sighed. "Does it matter? I'm not married. I'm not twenty-one, and I'm not someone of importance. Therefore, I'm not someone they think to be trustworthy."

"Still, that guy kicked you out!" Fred hissed. "I'll never forgive him for that!"

"Don't try anything," Percy warned.

The gang was walking down the street to the nearest train station. This morning, they had voted unanimously to catch a train to New York. It was decided that there would be no chance of surviving in Sarasota.

Harry stared at the dark alleyway where the blond-haired man called Malfoy had... raped, maybe,.. him. His inner thighs still hurt a little. The images stayed fresh in his mind. The footsteps, and that one hundred dollar bill that was tossed on the ground like litter.

Harry felt anger swell up again. How dare that bastard think of him as something so disgusting? He wasn't queer, not at all. Was that what people like Malfoy did? Used people like that?

"Harry, are you alright?" Dean's voice said beside him and the brunette quickly turned his head, the sneer faded quickly from his face.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit mad about... how we ended up like this," Harry lied. "Which I shouldn't be, because we might have ended up worse."

Dean nodded. "We might have."

Ginny scoffed. "How could things get worse?" she asked in a tone of pure anger. "Sleeping on the street?"

"Yeah," answered Percy.

"I'd rather die," she snapped, clearly had not gotten over her fight with him.

"And you wouldn't have to." Everybody suddenly tensed at this new voice. They turned around to face a rather rat-like man, whose eyes were on Ginny like she was a bundle of money that he had just found in the middle of the road. Harry pulled Ginny closer to him as she shrank back from the man. "If you would come with me."

The Potter boy narrowed his eyes and glared at the rat-like man in the navy blue suit and tie.

_Another one, just like that Malfoy guy back there,_ Harry thought. He quickly pushed Ginny to the twins, who circled their little sister.

"Come on girly," the man called out. People on the street were beginning to stare.

"Harry, guys," Percy cut in. "Let's go. We don't need the trouble."

"Oh, come on, gentlemen, I just want to talk to the little lady." The scruffy man grinned at Percy. "She's your little sister, huh?"

"Yes sir," Percy answered. "Now if you would excuse us, we must get going."

"Care to stay for a minute?"

"No thank you," Percy said politely. "Harry, come on."

Harry started to turn around.

"Potter," he suddenly said, tensing the young boy's spine, making Harry turn back to face him once more. "James Potter. You're his son aren't you? You look awfully like him."

"You knew my father?" Harry asked with suspicion.

The man made a small sneer and held out a hand. "Peter Pettigrew."

"Pettigrew," Harry repeated and stared at the extended hand. "My father talked about you."

Peter chuckled. "And not very nicely, I assume. But hey," The man held up his hands in a surrender pose. "It's not my fault that his stock suddenly became worthless. No hard feelings, really. He's a smart businessman. Just decided to sell too late."

"You should still have taken it," Harry said.

Peter's humored face suddenly grew cold. "And what? Waste all that money on a piece of worthless paper?"

"It's worth five hundred," Harry said.

"And you think that I didn't offer him that? Well I did, boy. That was the part where the proof came saying that he's not as smart as he thought he is. Five hundred is something at least. But now, now I wouldn't even give half a penny for it," Peter snapped.

"But-"

"Harry," Ron's voice hissed. "Let's go." He quickly dragged Harry away.

Peter smirked and waved. Harry glanced back and saw Ginny looking at that man with uncertainty.

"Ginny," one of the twins growled, causing her to turn around.

"That's not a wise thing you just did," Ron whispered in Harry's ear. "That man is filthy rich and nasty. You don't go around making enemies with people like him. Particularly not in the condition that we're in."

Harry gritted his teeth. "But did you see the way that he flirted with Ginny. Shameless! And he's like three times older than she is, with her just in her teens! In the middle of the street!"

"If it had been anyone else, Percy and I would have beat the living daylights out of him," Ron explained. "And people on the street would have stepped in. But he's an important man. And we're just a bunch of kids."

Harry sighed. "So we're the loser for now?"

"Yeah," Ron said. "And we're losing badly if we don't do something soon."

* * *

The train station was just up ahead, busy with people streaming out and in. People with expensive fur coats on. People in suits. People with suitcases. People with brown hair, red, black, blond. Blond.

That man was a blond. Harry thought bitterly as he saw another flash of blond hair. Malfoy's own platinum white-blond flashed through his mind. He saw a hand wave from his left.

Probably Pettigrew's hand.

He saw it wave again and he turned to his left.

There stood Malfoy, smirking and waving. Harry could feel his anger swell up again and the urge to go over there and punch Malfoy's nose in.

Before he could do so, a crowd of people swarmed in front of Malfoy. When Harry turned to his left and looked again, he was gone.

"You're alright mate?" Ron asked.

"I'm fine."

* * *

Two days later they managed to get to New York.

They stayed in a cheap apartment that they rented for a month before moving out, much to Ginny's protest, since it was she who urged them to rent an apartment in the first place. New York didn't give them the luck that they had hoped. Work was still rare, but at least the food was cheaper.

The only person that managed to find a steady job was, not too surprisingly, Percy. Fred and George couldn't even hold a one-off job. Harry worked at a bookstore for part-time on Sundays. Ron said that he was better off taking care of people's lawns. Ginny found an occasional baby-sitting job or two, but that was about it. People had refused to hire Dean.

Winter was approaching and they needed a new place, fast. Not to mention the coats and all that winter clothing which they needed.

"I can't believe it, it's already the middle of November," Ron moaned.

"I can't believe that we moved out of that apartment right before winter!" Ginny said.

"Stop whining. This abandoned boxcar will do just fine," Percy said, trying to be light about the whole situation. "And it's by a lake and free, with unlimited water supply and no rent to pay."

"The best things in life are free!" the twins sang together in the background. "The worst things in life cost money!"

"Shut up!" Percy snapped, even though everybody was laughing. "This is not a laughing matter! We all need winter coats, food, socks and gloves. We had a total of two hundred and eighty-seven dollars saved up-"

"That's a lot of money," Fred commented.

"Shut up," Percy growled. "We'll also need to buy a stove if we want to be warm."

"Ohhh a stove," said George as he rubbed his hands together.

"I don't know if it's going to be enough," Percy admitted. "And I'd really like to have some money left over before spring comes. So we need to work twice as hard right now. Harry's got to juggle two jobs, seeing that your bookshop shift is only on Sundays. Ginny might get extra because it's near Thanksgiving and a lot of the mothers have to do their shopping. Ron, switch to shoveling leaves. Dean, we'll try harder alright? And you two - stop fooling around!"

"Yes Master Percy!" The twins saluted. This time Percy smiled.

* * *

"There's a lot more people on the street now," Ginny muttered to Ron and Harry as she walked down the snow-covered road. "And look, a little baby and her sister," she said, referring to a young mousy-brown headed girl holding her little sister, across the street, who froze in her spot when they spot her. Embarrassed, the trio looked away. "Things have gone bad, haven't they?"

It was December twenty-fifth, Christmas.

"Yeah, I saw it in the Sunday Paper," Harry muttered. "Three factories closed a week ago."

Ron winced. "And we thought that it might get better."

"Did your father answer your letter?" Harry asked. The Weasleys had written Mr. Weasley a letter a month ago, confirming their location in the boxcar and how they were doing.

"Yes. Mother's taking it well," Ron answered. "The vegetables they gather from the garden are keeping them alive. We sent them some money so they can pay the overdue rent. So they'll be alright for now. My father still has his job and the money that Bill and Charlie send them monthly."

Harry nodded with relief. "Did he say anything about my parents?"

Ron suddenly found it hard to look at Harry. Harry's heart sank for a quick moment.

"Well?"

Ron looked at his sister. "Tell him Ginny."

"No, you tell him," Ginny muttered.

Ron took a deep breath. "Remember the man that your father kept borrowing money from?" He asked Harry.

"Tom Riddle?" Harry said and Ron nodded. "Yes, what about him?"

"He came to your parents' house at the start of this month, demanding to have his debt paid in a week," Ron said.

"But a week has already passed!" Harry pointed out. "He gave Father- I mean, my father extra time?"

"No."

"Then what?" Harry cried.

Ron looked at him. "Stay calm when I tell you this, Harry... Your father turned the house over to him."

"But it's not going to be enough!" Harry said. "My father still owes him a couple of hundred dollars!"

"Actually," Ron said. "It's around a thousand. The cost of houses went down a lot, by almost thirty percent. Your father couldn't pay the rest off. He killed himself."

"He what?" Harry cried with shock. He must not have heard it right. His father would never commit suicide. It was impossible... It was impossible... Of course it was, his father wasn't that kind of a person. "Ron you're not funny," Harry said seriously. "This is no time for jokes."

"This isn't a joke, Harry," Ginny said quietly. "A neighbour saw him. He jumped off the church building and broke his neck."

Harry laughed a dry, humorless laugh. A typical way to kill oneself. Jump off a church building. How very unoriginal. "What happened to my mother then?" he asked as soon as he recovered from his laugh.

"I believe that my father said she ran off with her high school boyfriend," Ron told him. "Snivellus Snape. No wait, I think his first name was Severus, I'm not sure."

So. James killed himself and Lily ran off with another man. Huh. "And?"

"And what?" Ron asked.

"What else happened to them? Did they leave a note? Something?" Harry asked.

"The hospital left you a fee of three hundred and twenty-three dollars that you have to pay," Ginny said. "Your father left you a suicide letter. Percy has it. He wasn't sure whether he should show it to you-"

"Tell him to burn it," Harry said coldly as he walked ahead, looking bitterly up at the grand mansion that stood out in Manhattan like a thumb. Then he quickly turned away from what he saw and ran down the street.

* * *

"Home sweet home," Draco Malfoy sighed into his lime-green pillow with silver fringing. It was so good to be back in your own room after two months of traveling. Two months of boring meetings with boring businessmen, looking at their boring ties.

He had learned absolutely nothing from the two months. The things Lucius were trying to teach him were the things that he already knew from his many mentors and tutors, not to mention all the private schoolings Lucius had made him attend. That man had wasted two of the best months in his best period of life.

_Screw him._ Draco scowled into his pillow.

He got up, stretching his aching limbs, and opened the balcony door. That was why he loved his room. He had windows on every side of his wall so he could see everything, and a balcony that had the best view in the whole mansion. He could even make out the figure of the Statue of Liberty from here if he squinted hard enough.

Draco suddenly heard some voices from the street below.

"Tell him to burn it," a young boy's voice said. Draco looked down to find Harry's face peering up at him. Then he turned away and ran down the street.

_So he made it here?_


	8. Chapter 8

Harry avoided Malfoy's mansion. He'd take the long way down to town and duck whenever he saw a person with blond hair, fearing it might be him. He didn't see a trace of Malfoy from New Year to March. The cold weather had passed and everything was beginning to come alive again. At least, the animals were. The smell and the sight of downtown, however, had became unbearable, full of terrible aromas, ranging from the sulphurous stink of rotten eggs, to the nauseating smell of rotting animals. The homeless hung around, sitting on the street. Few shops were open and many children wandered up and down the avenues, begging for money.

The worst news since they had left home came on April 3rd. The sweatshop that Percy was working at closed that day. Ten more ex-employees had gone home with no jobs. Percy was one of them.

Ginny cried when her oldest brother told them during dinner that evening. Half of their money was from Percy's job. They needed that money.

"Don't worry," Percy had tried to reassure her. "I'll get hired again somehow." But his tone told everybody in the room different.

"I'm strong," Percy tried again. "I've got a good working record and we've been out here for more than half a year. I'll make sure that we'll be alright so there's nothing to worry about. Right guys?" No one answered him. There were just too many people out there now in need of a job. Percy would be no different from the next young man looking for work in employers' eyes.

That night, everyone went to bed with a sinking stomach. Nobody caught a wink of sleep, and yet nobody made a noise.

The bookstore that Harry worked in closed its doors too. Nobody was buying books anymore. Nobody had the money to waste on books. Fewer mothers needed their children to be baby-sat. Many people were starting to sell their houses, but no one was buying them. Thus, houses with front lawns no longer needed mowing.

The economy was taking a major trip downhill. Everything slumped.

_The Great Depression is now in session, _Harry thought and chuckled in his mind. _Hey, that rhymes!_

Everything was tense the next morning. Percy had left without having breakfast at the crack of dawn and left a note saying that there were cold pancakes from the day before in the ice box and some oranges.

"Why is God doing this to us?" Ginny choked on her tears. "What have we done wrong?"

"It's happening to everybody," Ron said simply. "We're lucky. We still have this place and not the street like most of them."

"We were doing so well before," she continued. "Everything was going so well. The stock markets, the economy, us! We were doing so fucking well!"

"It can't be helped," Dean grumbled. "Just like some things."

"We're America!" Ginny shouted.

"France and England are in the same condition," Harry said. "Germany is worse than us right now."

Ginny bit her lip. "I'm going outside."

They all watched her as she stormed outside, slamming the wooden door after her.

Dean sighed. "What's happening to us?"

* * *

"Look at those people." Lucius' lip curved into a sneer as they drove by one of the busy streets in Manhattan. One of those streets that was lined with people in rags, shivering. "Those are the unfortunates, Draco. You don't want to fall into their category."

A thin little girl, clutching a worn-out teddy bear, with large blue eyes watched them as they drove by in their new car. Draco stared back at her. She was filthy, with flies dancing around her. "No, I don't want to," he muttered in agreement.

"That's what makes us better than they are. We're successful," Lucius continued proudly as he came to a stop. Pausing for two seconds, he turned the car to his left.

"Successful," Draco echoed.

His father suddenly stopped the car and looked at him. "And I trust that you'll go down the same road of success as I did Draco. I expect nothing less."

"Why should I live up to your expectations?" Draco sneered at him. "I do things my way."

Lucius frowned and glared darkly at his son. "You're spoiled."

Draco sneered again "Another point for being born into the upper class. Aren't we all spoiled?"

"I don't care who or what you are. I just care about what you _do_," Lucius hissed. "The way in which you act- at school, with girls. That's tarnishing our carefully-built reputation that us Malfoys have preserved for who knows how long."

"Aren't you the same, especially with young girls?"

"Don't question my actions," he said as he started the car again.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Draco snorted.

A few minutes later, they stopped again, this time in front of an important-looking building.

"What are we doing here?" Draco said as he raised one of his eyebrows at the building. It was one of those business buildings that his father always went to. Draco remembered this one; he hated it. Well, he hated the people inside. Or maybe he just hated it because it was his father's favourite working building and the one where he owned an entire floor to himself.

"Business," came the simple reply. Wasn't it all business?

"I mean, why did we have to pick this shitty building for that particular business?" Draco said as he glared at the immense building.

"Parkinson requests it to be here," Lucius said.

The younger blond paused at the doorway. "Parkinson? You mean Loki Parkinson, Pansy's father?" he asked with a scowl. He remembered the Parkinson girl from way back to grade school. The popular pug-face with her brown curls. "Why am I here?" He had no business with the Parkinsons.

The beefy security guard at the entrance gave him a sneer as he walked by. Draco gave the guard a glare equally loathing and walked away. No wonder he hated this place. A simple security guard had the nerve to think that he was better than a Malfoy.

"Oh, I thought that you might like to catch up to an old school friend, that's all."

"You're mental if you think that I'll marry that pug-face," Draco snapped. "I'm leaving. Give me the car keys. I'll drive home and you can call a cab," he said as Lucius turned around, his face cold.

"Stay where you are," he commanded, causing two random women turning around a corner to stop and watch. Not wanting to cause such a scene, Draco stomped over to his father unhappily and headed for the nearest staircase.

* * *

"Good to see you, my old friend." Lucius let out a laugh as he warmly shook Mr. Parkinson's hand, who was dressed in a dazzlingly rich white suit. "Nice suit."

"Thank you, good man," Mr. Parkinson said cheerfully as he gestured Lucius to a seat. Good man. Draco sneered. No way was his father any sort of a good man. "And this fine young lad is your son, I presume?"

"Yes, yes." Lucius laughed his fake laugh again. "This is Draco, Mr. Parkinson."

"Pleased to meet you sir," Draco said with sarcasm dripping from his voice as he plucked down onto the couch next to his father, who shot him a venomous glare that was ignored.

"Don't fret. I've got a daughter just like that," Mr. Parkinson said with a laugh.

_I bet you do, _thought Draco with annoyance. If this is what's going to happen for him for the rest of the day, he'd might as well as have fun with it and be rude. There was nothing that his father could do to him in front of Mr. Parkinson.

Loki stood up and opened up the office door. A secretary immediately came over. He said something to her that Draco didn't quite catch and turned around, starting to head back to his seat.

"What does he need me for?" a female's voice shouted, causing Loki to jump, startled, and glare at the closed door.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, speak up!" they heard next.

Lucius raised an eyebrow and Mr. Parkinson chuckled nervously.

"That's her, Mr. Malfoy. I hope you aren't easily insulted or-"

"Godammit, I'll be right in there! Jesus Christ!"

Lucius looked even more taken back.

_Whoa, _Draco thought with a chuckle, impressed. _Pug-face had gone more… pug-face._

"I beg you for your forgiveness, my good man," Mr. Parkinson apologized. "Pansy!"

"What the hell is it about? I'm missing my date, you know!"

Loki winced as the door came flying open. A young woman burst into the room wearing a knee length hot pink skirt and a ton of eyeliner. Draco blinked, even more startled by the way she dressed than her language, which he could immediately note to be worse than his own.

Around Pansy's neck were chains and chains of beads and necklaces. On each of her ears were huge pearl earrings which were so big that they caused Draco to wonder if they were real. The upper part of her outfit was skin-tight, showing nearly everything.

_Is this some sort of a new style or something? _Draco wondered, noting that Pansy's hair wasn't cut as short as a flapper's should be and the tightness of the upper part of the outfit was definitely not acceptable as one, or anything else for that matter.

_She's taken it to a whole new level! I'm surprised that she hasn't been arrested for dressing like that._

Lucius' eyes were wide open but blinking frequently, obviously not believing what he was seeing. Loki sighed and covered his face with his hand, embarrassed.

"I thought that I told you not to dress like that," he hissed at her and was ignored. She only stood there, looking very smug, pleased at the attention that she was getting. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on Draco.

"Draco Malfoy? Is that you, you sly dog?" She asked with a smirk.

"Hi, Pug-face." Draco waved in a bored fashion. from his spot on the couch. Pansy stomped over to her father.

"What is that guy doing here?"

Loki ignored that question. "You've met young Malfoy here?"

"Sure, we went to the same school together," she answered and took her place across from the Malfoys. "Pointy-nosed Money bag."

"You're the one to talk," Draco said. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Pansy said nothing and only looked at the floor, even more pleased with herself.

"I'm sorry about her. This is not the way she usually dresses," Loki said, trying to explain.

"I hope not," Lucius said, looking at her up and down with disapproval.

"He's right. I usually take a fur coat with me," Pansy purred, giving Lucius a dazzling fake smile.

Loki looked ready to strangle his own daughter.

"Perhaps, you two would like to get outside to talk. We have deals to discuss," Lucius said quickly.

Draco immediately stood up, eager to leave.

"And don't you dare try anything with Ms. Parkinson!"

The young Malfoy snorted. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"I won't let him touch me," Pansy muttered. They walked out of the office, leaving their fathers to their legal businesses. When out of earshot, Draco took a better look at Pansy.

"You've changed," he commented as he stared at her slender model-like legs beneath her skirt.

She sneered at him. "Mother's been keeping me on a diet."

"You don't need a diet," Draco said.

"She said that my thighs are too fat," Pansy said.

Draco flinched with disgust and backed away from her. "With your tongue and the way you talk and dress, you must not have many suitors after you."

"I don't like guys."

This got the guy to jump. "What?"

"It discourages them," she gestured at herself.

_Oh really,_ Draco wanted to snicker. Considering the way she dressed, many men would've thought that she had the opposite intention.

"I've got a girlfriend," Pansy said, sticking out her tongue childishly.

"You're..."

"I'm what?"

"Why are you so open about it?" Draco demanded, ignoring her question. "Doesn't your father know?"

"Oh, he knows alright," Pansy snarled. "But he wouldn't dare to do anything."

Draco's thoughts flashed back to Harry for a while. If Lucius knew what he had done, he'd surely get disowned.

"Mother won't let him. Said it would shame the family. She's trying to get me marry at the moment," she said, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Care for one?" she asked him, holding out the pack. Draco shook his head no and backed off more. For some reason, he just hated the smell of cigarette smoke. He had tried to smoke before when he was about eight with a bunch of older friends. It was an experience that he didn't want to repeat again.

"I think that Luna is in that Speakeasy behind that jewellery store downtown," she said after a couple of puffs. "You should meet her."


	9. Chapter 9

"It's the back door of this Jewelry store," said Pansy, answering Draco's unsaid question as she dragged him into the shop. Diamonds and sapphires glittered behind the counters. "They have the best... _tea_, and the France and Spain imported natural..._water. _Not to mention delightful homemade cocktails with little Japanese umbrellas._"_

Draco nearly barked a laugh, but quickly caught himself. Pansy's outrageous outfit already got enough attention as it is.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson and this is my boyfriend Draco Malfoy," she said as she went up the counter. The eyes of the man lit up. "I believe that our engagement rings is waiting at the back door of your shop? I'd like to take a look at them."

"Follow me."

"'Engagement rings?'" Draco asked Pansy in a whisper as they're being led by the man down a long, twisted hallway.

"Codes. Whenever you want to go here, you tell them your name or flash them your wallet. If they approved of you then you tell them what you want. Engagement rings mean that you want to go to the club at back. Ruby Earrings means that you need more powder-"

"Powder?"

"Where have you been?" she snapped. "You know what I mean by powder."

"I do know what powder means."

"Sapphire necklace means that you need to borrow money. Diamond bracelets means that you need contact with the owner." She said.

"Here we are," the man said, pointing to the door. "We close at four o'clock in the morning."

"Alright."

They opened up the door and stepped inside. Loud music greeted their ears. _Pretty popular place. Maybe I'll go here sometime, _he thought as he watched a woman in a hot red skirt dancing around several men at once. All of them seemed to want to reach out and grab her, but could not as she moved so quickly from one man to another. Passing Draco, she gave him a wink and he smirked as he stared at her figure.

"Come on, dummy," Pansy suddenly snapped and she shook him a bit, dragging him away from the woman. "Typical club slut," she sneered as she glared at the woman. Draco tore his eyes away from the "club slut." Looking around the club, he could feel many people's eyes on him and Pansy, but most on Pansy.

The Parkinson led the way, pushing apart several couples and finally arrived at one of the drinking tables where couples of all ages were laughing and drinking beverages; there were some ten year old kids in here, or at least they looked it.

_A real popular place, _Draco noted when he noticed that all of the tables were taken. He looked from table to table, trying to find the Luna girl out of all the people here.

Pansy suddenly scowled darkly and stomped over to one of the tables... where a man was, apparently, intimidating a blond-haired girl in a rather sexual way.

Pansy reached over to that table and slapped the man hard. The girl looked very relieved and stood up behind Parkinson.

"What the fuck?" the man shouted. _Drunk_. Draco could tell by his unsteady, lazy voice.

Pansy only shot him a disgusted glare and held the girl possessively. Many people turned and stare, only to meet Pansy's death glare and turned around once again.

_This is Luna? _Draco thought, mentally raising an eyebrow. She didn't seem any older than Harry. The girl was good-looking, but her walk was awkward. One could describe it as a graceful duck. Graceful, but yet still a duck. Meeting Luna's eyes a few times**, **he could have almost mistaken her for a sleep-walker. Her wide eyes were dream-like.

"Well," said Pansy cheerfully as she stood in front of Draco. "This is Luna," she introduced. "And Luna, this is my friend from grade school, Draco Malfoy. His father owns the Malfoy Inc. so maybe you've heard of it-"

"I have," Luna said in a frail voice. "My father invested in Malfoy Inc. He lost his stocks."

Draco blinked. _Somebody investing in our company lost their stocks? _"I'm terribly sorry," he said.

Luna shook her head. The dirty-blond hair that was curled a bit at the tip bounced back and forth. "It's not your fault. Everybody's losing right now."

"No. Malfoy Inc. shouldn't have lost anything," Draco said again. Luna looked a little bit down.

"Let's not talk about it," Pansy suddenly said, interrupting the tension. "Anybody want a bottle?"

"Red wine, if not, then give me their best," Draco said as he walked over to the table at which Luna previously sat and sat down, shoving the drunk man aside. The man got up and yelled a bunch of colourful words. Draco glared at him and then the crazy man left.

Luna let out a sigh with relief and sat down too. "Those milkshakes they're making." She said, earning weird looks from Draco and Pansy. Milkshake at a bar? She blushed. "They're quite good," she muttered, trying to explain.

"Alright, one red wine and a milkshake," Pansy said as she marched over to the bartender, coming back a moment later with a glass of red wine and a milkshake. She herself had a glass of Magnolia wine.

"Top quality," she said with a smirk. "Ten dollars a bottle. Expensive. Toast!"

The three of them laughed heartily and toasted Pansy.

* * *

Percy let out a coughing fit that echoed through the whole room, or boxcar, tossing and turning. He reached up to his forehead and scratched the mosquito bite. Stupid mosquitoes. Of all the places on his body to bite, it had to be his forehead.

His throat felt swollen and raw. Every swallow of saliva hurt.

"Percy, you're OK?" his brother Ron muttered from three floor-beds away. Between them slept the twins. George was snoring and Fred was drooling on his piece of cloth.

"I'm fine," Percy replied. His voice sounded very hoarse.

Ron shifted around and went back to sleep, leaving Percy all alone at the night. The sound of George's snoring drowned out the chirping of the night crickets. The half-moon shone above the sky outside. Percy's eyelids grew heavier.

They had been heavy for a long time, but he just could not go to sleep with all the thoughts in his mind.

Heck, he was a big brother. Everything depended on him. He was the one that could work, the one who knew enough, the one who could handle the money so that they wouldn't spend it all on trash the way that Fred and George would have. They needed him. He couldn't be weak now. He couldn't.

Percy let out another cough as the moon reached its highest peak. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until he could no longer keep them open.

He finally shut his eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

Everybody woke up early the morning that next day. Dean had cooked breakfast and Harry washed up some dishes and utensils. Ginny sat crossed-leg in one corner, watching them with a dull expression.

"What's for breakfast?" Ron said with eccentric joy as he got up and stretched his aching body. Sleeping on the floor gave him a real pain on his shoulders. His hands reached the ceiling of the boxcar as he stretched at his highest.

"Waffles," Dean said. "And plain porridge. There's no sugar left."

The twins groaned at the announcement of no sugar and slumped down onto their "bed", sprawling on top of each other.

"No syrup either," Dean said again, causing louder groans. The black boy sighed and rolled his dark brown eyes. " Sorry. We need more-"

"We do not _need _more, we just _want _more," Percy snapped, rubbing his sore left foot. "Syrup and sugar are not cheap."

Nobody argued with him, not even Ginny. Their savings had slid down hill ever since Percy lost his job. He was right. There was no more money left to waste on simple desired things like syrup and sugar.

Dean shrugged and gave the pot a stir and picked up a clean pate and a fork. "Waffles are ready. Help yourself as I tend the porridge."

Ron, Ginny, Percy, and Harry quickly snatched a piece before the twins attacked the plate of waffles. When the porridge was done, the waffles were all gone. Dean poured one bowl of porridge at a time, dividing them equally. He took a bowl for himself and slowly started to eat, turned away to a corner as Harry and Ginny nibbled at their waffles.

"Dean?" Percy suddenly said.

The black boy looked up from his bowl and glance over his shoulder. "Yes, Percy?"

"Do... do you want this?" Percy said as he held out his uneaten waffle. "I don't feel hungry right now."

"I want it!" Fred and George shouted. A glare from Percy made them both back down.

"No thank you," Dean answered quietly and turned back to his breakfast. "You should eat more. It won't do any of us good if you're starving."

Percy sighed and tossed the waffle at the twins. Fred caught it before it landed on the ground and ripped it in half. The twins each took one piece and gobbled them up within seconds. The oldest Weasley shook his head and made a weak cough. "I'm going outside, OK?"

Everyone in the room gave him either a nod or an OK. He strolled out of the room.

"You know," Fred began as he stared at the door. "I don't think our big boy's making it."

George shook his head. "No he isn't."

Harry looked at nobody, staring down at his food. They were right; Percy was not making it. The way he walked and just how skinny he looked... and that coughing that Ron told him about this morning. Harry himself could do nothing. None of them could do anything. Percy was breaking down.

"Let's not talk about it. It's just a cough," Harry suggested. Percy breaking down would just be too hard on them.

"Why not?" Ginny snapped darkly as she chucked her spoon at her bowl. She got up and marched over to the "sink", which was just a container of hot water, and put the bowl in. "It's true."

Harry stared at her. "What has gotten into you lately?"

"What? You can't face the truth?" Ginny said, glaring at him.

"No it's-"

"You can't take it can you?" she snarled. "So we're all going to be ignorant about Percy being sick. And when the time comes, we won't even have the money to throw a proper funeral!"

"Why are we talking about his funeral?" Harry shouted and chucked down _his _spoon. "Percy _will _make it!"

"Liar!" Ginny shouted.

"I'm not lying to anybody," Harry said. His face was red with anger and his knuckles were white and clenched into a fist. The Weasleys and Dean stared at the fighting pair.

"The only reason why you believe that Percy can make it is because you can't!" Ginny hissed. She turned around to glare at the boys in the room. "None of you can! All of you will be nothing without Percy!"

"You think we should call a doctor then?" Ron said calmly. "It'll break his heart that we're spending the last of... of what's left on a doctor. We can't afford even sugar and syrup."

Ginny's lips formed a thin line. "You're nothing without him," she said for one last time and stomped out of the boxcar. She looked back one more time. "Losers!" _Slam._

There was silence.

"We're not losers," Fred scowled.

"No we're not," agreed his twin.

"That's right. We just aren't trying," Fred said, frowning. "That was really ego-breaking."

"Yes it was," George said, nodding his head. "Really ego-breaking."

Dean walked back to a corner and wrapped his arms around his legs. The Negro boy closed his eyes and silently drifted into sleep again. Ron sighed.

"Teenage girls and their mood-swings," he muttered under his breath. "I'm so glad that I'm not a girl."

"Are you sure that it was one of her mood-swings?" Harry asked. Ron looked over at his best friend. Harry's eyes looked downcast and his shoulders slumped. "Maybe it's us."

"Don't say that," Ron said.

"It's just that..." Harry blinked back a tear. "She's right you know. We are nothing without Percy."

"That's because..." Ron trailed off. Apparently, he couldn't think of a response himself. Percy was a kid just like the rest of them. Heck, he turned eighteen just last year. Still, Ron refused to think that Ginny was right. He fell into a wooden old rocking chair and rocked back and forth. Dean got up from the corner and picked up Percy's piece of sleeping clothing. He dumped the cloth in water and began washing. Percy might feel better sleeping on a cleaner bed.

As he washed the piece of almost-rag, he spotted a red stain near the edge of the cloth. _Blood? From a wound he got from working in that sweat shop?_

Dean shrugged and ignored it.

* * *

Ginny stomped down the empty street. Her footsteps shook with anger. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red. Several little boys wandering around the street gave her a glance and ran off. She sighed.

They never listened to her, did they? They never did. Nobody ever listened to her. They all thought that she had it better than the rest of them just because she was the youngest. Well, that wasn't the case at all! She didn't have it better. If she had an older sister, she might. She might have someone to talk to, someone wiser and the same gender but yet, the same generation who could actually understand her. None of her friends understood. Not even her best friend - oh, wait - ex-best friend, Lavender. But then again, Lavender never understood anything.

She looked down on the ground as she walked. This was one of the not so busy streets so she wouldn't stand out because there was no one to stand out from. She sniffed her nose, wishing she had bought a handkerchief with her.

Her footsteps calmed down as she walked past a park. A little squirrel was trying to get a nut that was hanging from a thin tree branch. The squirrel fell down from the tree, squealing with pain.

Ginny tore her sight away from the pained squirrel and continued to look down. They were all squirrels, chasing after an impossible nut that was growing on a very thin branch. They would fall and break their... whatever that was going to break and could possibly break. She couldn't fall like them. She planned to rise, to marry wealth. That was why she had started seeing Harry before. Harry was the richest boy in town - oops, ex-richest, and not even in the town anymore.

She'd want a big and white wedding dress, the best that money could buy. She wanted a big cake with vanilla whipped cream and roses on every layer. She wanted no kids. She learned that lesson from her mother. Kids were no good. A burden.

The spring wind gently swayed her hair. The grass swayed back and forth along with the pattern. Ginny hated New York.

"Oh hi there," a rather familiar voice said. Ginny looked up and gasped.

"Yo- you!" she said with astonishment.

Pettigrew grinned his hideous grin. "Ginevra Weasley."

"How did you know my name?" Ginny asked suspiciously.

"Oh," Pettigrew's grin widened, "words get around here in New York, particularly about beautiful part-time baby-sitters."

Ginny flinched. "You're a stalker," she accused. Pettigrew laughed. "What are you doing here in New York?" she asked again. "You have no business in here. You're a Virginia man."

"So you do know about me." Pettigrew smirked.

"Sure." Ginny shrugged. "I saw you in newspapers all the time. Every time about you and another victim that you cheated."

Pettigrew laughed again. "My dear, you can't say that! It's certainly not my fault that they're not smart enough to get the better of me before I did them."

"You're fake!" Ginny snapped. "And I'm not your dear, filthy old coot!"

Pettigrew sneered at her, making her flinch again and look down. "I'm a smart business man. What's wrong with that?" he hissed. Ginny felt his eyes burning a hole right through her soul.

"I-" she began. "But you cheated."

"That's business, love." The word love was spoken with a sarcastic slur. "And good business gives you good money. Now who doesn't like good money?" Ginny looked up into his ugly face. "You sure would like some, wouldn't you?"

Ginny had nothing prepared to say.

"But you failures blame us winners for that," Pettigrew said. "We're successful and it's not our fault that people like your brothers fall to the bottom. But you, on the other hand." He grabbed a hold of Ginny's chin and stared at the terrified girl straight into her eyes. "_You _could rise, with me."

Ginny's eyes widened with terror.

"How does that sound?" Pettigrew said as his eyes wandered off his face and snaked around the curves of her young, developing body.

Ginny slapped the hand away and took a few steps back. "You- you.." she breathed.

"Any time that you decide to come to me, little girl. My doors are always open to you," he said as he advanced towards her and touched her chest. "You're a beautiful and worthy child. Come to me when you need me."

Ginny couldn't even scream as she ran off, never stopping to take a pause of breath until she saw the boxcar. She ran inside and slammed the door tight shut behind her, as if afraid that Pettigrew might follow inside.

"Ginny are you alright?" Ron asked concernedly.

Ginny collapsed onto the floor as unexpected tears flowed into her eyes. She started to cry.

"Ginny?" Harry's voice asked beside her, full with worry.

She continued to cry.

"Do you need anything?" Harry asked again.

She shook her head. "Leave me alone," she whispered.

The boys looked at one another.

"Alright."


	10. Chapter 10

Cough, cough. Percy let out an exhausted sigh as he lay on his "bed." His lips were cracked, dry and extremely white. His cheeks were flushed bright red and each breath taken was long and deep. His arms lay limply in defeat by his sides. The doctor's face wore a deep frown.

"High fever," the doctor muttered. "Open your mouth."

Percy obediently opened his mouth and the doctor stuck a popsicle stick in. "Swollen. This is bad."

"Is he going to be alright?" Percy heard Harry ask.

"Well," the doctor answered as he scribbled something in a notebook. "I really don't know, son."

"Is there anything we can do?" Ron asked.

The doctor finished writing whatever he was writing. "Don't let him work. For god's sake, don't even let him out of his bed. Be sure to give him plenty of fluids, preferably boiled or hot water or if you can get it, some tea with no sugar would be good too. When the fever has gone down, start giving him colder drinks like apple juice or lemonade. Oh and no coffee or soft drinks. Don't give him anything that contains sugar or oil. And tell him to eat more vegetables."

"Oh, and let me give you some pills," he said as he opened his briefcase and started to pick out two bottles from the millions that were in there. He finally got up, holding a tiny bottle and a big one. "Those are cough syrup and pills for the fever. Two pills a day and one spoonful of cough syrup should do the trick."

The doctor ripped out the page of the notebook and handed it to Harry. "Are any of you in this household over age?"

The boys and Ginny looked at each other. No one in the boxcar was over twenty-one.

"No. Sorry," Harry apologized.

The doctor sighed. "Parents?"

"They're back home," Ron answered. "In Virginia."

"Well." The doctor looked at the page and put it on the cover of the notebook. He made some extra lines and handed it back again. "Then all of you have to sign."

Harry stared at the paper. Numbers and messy handwriting covered it. Everything was hard to read and make out. "What is it?"

"This is your bill," the doctor answered.

"Bill?" Harry sputtered and frowned.

The doctor nodded and pointed to a number at the bottom. "One hundred and twenty-seven dollars - due in thirty days. Mail the bill and the money to my office on Henry Street. Here's my card."

Harry was about to protest when Percy suddenly sat up. "But sir-"

"You sit down," the doctor told him firmly as he rushed over to Percy's side and levelled him down. "You're sick and-"

"We don't have that much," Percy said as he watched his friends and siblings all sign the paper. "We can't have it in thirty days."

"Well," The doctor shrugged as he started to pack his briefcase. "You'll have to find some way. Otherwise, I'll have to call the police. I have my own family to feed, boys."

"Can't it be a little cheaper?" Harry asked with desperation in his voice as he held the pen and began to write his name. There was no way they could pay one hundred and twenty-seven dollars in thirty days. They couldn't make that much. Heck, they weren't even sure how much they had.

"Sorry boys," the doctor answered. "Now I've got to leave. There's another patient who just phoned me this morning that I've got to get to." The man quickly put on his coat and picked up the packed briefcase. He left the boxcar, practically fleeing from them.

Harry stared at the bill in his hand, appalled. One hundred and twenty-seven dollars.

"How much do we have?" he whispered. Everyone looked at everybody else, fidgeting nervously.

"_How much_?"

Nobody answered.

"Fifty-two dollars and eighty-seven cents." They all looked over to Percy, who burst into a fit of coughs as soon as he finished saying the amount. "That's how much I counted a week ago. But none of us earned anything during the past days so I'm not-" His reply was stopped by the cough again.

"How are we going to get what's left," Ron muttered. "Seriously, how does that doctor charge? He only took a look at Percy's throat, took a temperature, then gave us two bottle of medicines. How much could a popsicle stick and two bottles of stuff cost?"

Ginny shrugged. "Who knows? But that's not the question now."

Fred and George proceeded with scratching their head. Dean sat motionless in a corner of the room. Harry stood in the middle of this all, holding that piece of paper. A piece of paper that could get all of them in trouble.

"He's going to call the police," Ginny said rubbing her forehead. "I'm not fourteen years old yet and I'm being thrown into jail." Her voice started from a soft tone to a voice of anger. "A sick person. That's all it took."

"We're not in jail yet," Harry pointed out. "We have thirty days."

"Oh yes," Ginny snarled. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Thirty days will be all we need to come up with eighty dollars for the bill. Yes, the money will fall from the sky and down beside our feet because we need it. We'll come up with the money in thirty days and live happily ever after. Uh huh. No problem. No problem at all... Now, you tell me what's wrong with what I just said!"

"I didn't mean it like that," Harry said.

"Then tell me how are _you _going to be hired to a job where they'd actually give you the money we need in thirty days!" Ginny shouted. "I'm sick of this!"

"So am I!" Harry shouted. "You think I like to be locked up in jail?"

"A jail is better than this!"

Harry's face turned red with embarrassment and rage. "Well sorry _princess," _he said through ground teeth. "We can't afford a palace or a doctor. So sorry then, you're stuck with the rest of us peasants."

"I won't be," Ginny snapped. Her brothers looked up from the floor to her. Ron blinked in surprise and the twins frowned. Dean was still, as still as a statue.

"What do you mean by that?" Harry hissed, his fist raised. Ron quickly ran to him and clasped the fist down.

"Harry," he whispered into his best friend's ear. "She's just a girl-"

"You think I didn't hear that, Ronald?" the red-headed girl spat. "A _girl."_

Ron looked up at her once again and stiffened. "I didn't mean it that way Ginny. You're taking this all wrong-"

"No!" Ginny said. "I understood exactly what you meant. So you think I'm not strong enough to be out there by myself, do you? Poor little Ginny." She sneered. "What would she do without us? Well I tell you. I can do a lot of things and I can go to a lot of places! I don't need you! I didn't come with you guys to live on the street, I didn't come with you guys all this way to go to jail, and I don't tolerate failures!"

That did it for Harry. Lily's exact words out of Ginny's mouth were too much. His hand extended, hitting her face with a loud slap. The Weasleys and Dean all gaped at him, alarmed, as Ginny's stumbling body hit the floor.

Ginny held her red left cheek, stunned. She peered up at Harry's shadowed eyes and white knuckles as if she had never seen him before, and never took her eyes off him as she slowly got up.

"I hate all of you," she whispered and stormed out the opened door, which they had not been able to close.

The silence and the tension in the air were thick enough to kill anything at the moment. Harry looked up and blinked. From beside him, Ron could see that his eyes were glittered with tears, refusing to fall as his fists were shaking as he opened and closed them repeatedly.

"Do you think she's going to come back this time?" Harry asked in a hushed, hoarse voice after a long moment of absolute silence.

Ron looked at the open doorway and did not answer.

"I'm sorry," Harry sobbed. "I slapped-"

"It's alright," Ron said. "She's such a loud mouth sometimes."

"She left."

"She'll come back," Ron said with little hope in his tone. "We're her only family. Where else could she go? Just calm down for now mate, she'll come to her senses eventually."

Harry shook his head. "You think I should go look for her?"

"No." Fred scowled. "Let her starve for a few days."

"Yeah," agreed his twin. "Show us what you got, Gin."

A lump formed in Harry's throat as an argument sprung up among the Weasley twins and Ron. He looked over at Dean but the black boy only stared at the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes. Harry then glanced at the sleeping Percy, whose cheeks were flushed red and mouth opened, gasping for water.

The bill from that doctor was still in his hand.

A bill he could not pay.

A piece of paper that could put all of them in jail.

Jail, all for a piece of stupid notebook paper.

He needed the money. If he could not win back Ginny or help any of them through what they faced, the least he could do was to pay the bill and get it out of their way. But who had the money? Who would hire him? Who was rich enough to lend a fourteen year-old a hundred and twenty-seven dollars without caring that he or she might never get it paid back.

He didn't know any rich people.

He swallowed as his hand squeezed the piece of notebook paper. Who?

_Malfoy. _That's it. _Malfoy's mansion is right on the road downtown._

Harry marched out of the room, ignoring the sudden questioning and shouting. If there was one person left on this goddamned earth that's willing to lend him the money, it would be Malfoy.

* * *

Knock knock.

Harry sniffed his nose and smoothed his wrinkled old shirt for one last time. His hair was a bed of irreparable mess.

"Hello?" he called out in a small voice. Mosquitoes danced around the electric torch on either side of the gigantic door. Harry swatted one off his face as he knocked again. "Hello? Anybody home?"

"Oh for Pete's sake," a grumpy voice of an old man said through the closed door from the inside. "There is something that was invented recently called a _door bell_!" The door was pulled open. "A _door bell, _you hear?"

Harry found himself staring at a pissed-off face of an old man in a yellow rubber ducky nightgown. He blushed in embarrassment and muttered an apology. The old man looked at him up and down.

"Any business you got here young man?" he asked in a snobbish voice.

"Um yes," Harry answered as politely as he could. "If you would let me see Mr. Malfoy, that would be greatly appreciated."

"_Mr. _Malfoy?" The old man wrinkled up his nose. "Which one?"

"Um." _Crap, he never left a first name. _"The younger one?"

"_Him_," the old man huffed. "That young troublemaker is doing his usually night wandering tonight, probably picking out another whore of some sort. He'll be here by tomorrow morning."

_Wh- whore? _"Is there no way that I can see him now?" Harry asked.

The old man put on an expression of disdain and shook his head. "Nope, be back tomorrow and maybe-"

"I'm here."

Harry's whole body tensed up as he felt Malfoy put a hand on his shoulder. "Harry, is it?"

Harry only let out a fake cough. The old man blinked owlishly at them.

"Let us in, stupid Bu_tt_ler." Draco sneered and led Harry into the manor. The old man- the butler grumbled in complaint and closed the door. He went up the stairs quickly and disappeared onto the second floor, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

"Now, just what are you doing here in this neighbourhood pounding on my door at this hour?" Draco suddenly asked. Harry turned around to peer into a pair of silver sly-looking eyes.

"Uh, it- it's only nine," he muttered.

Draco snorted. "I know that. And next time, ask for _Draco _Malfoy. That would be me." He motioned Harry to sit down.

"You never gave me your name," Harry muttered as he sat on the soft sofa.

Draco smirked. "I don't give out names to one-nighters. But since you're here for the second time, I thought it might be polite-"

"I'm not here for what happened down in Sarasota," Harry said. "Look, I've got a doctor's bill here for my best friend's brother. It has to be paid in thirty days. I need a job. Or a loan. Or something."

Draco took one look at him and burst into mocking laughter. Harry turned red. "You think I could find you a job?"

"Why not?" Harry asked. "If you can't do that then you certainly can give me a loan. I don't know when I'll pay it back but-"

"Oh, you don't have to pay the money back."

Harry stared at the bill.

"I don't have any need for- how much is it?" Draco asked.

"One hundred and twenty-seven."

"Grand?" the blond asked with a raise of an eyebrow.

"No, just dollars," Harry answered. "You can afford that."

"Of course I can." Draco rolled his eyes and put his hands behind his head. "But, of course, in a deal you have to get something out of something."

"I'll do anything," said Harry with more confidence than he actually had. "Except anything that's going to get me in jail."

"Oh, of course I won't make you do anything that would get you in jail," Draco said. "I don't like to deal with cops and detectives and all those shit heads." He stared at Harry and the brunette swallowed. "Do you have to go home for the night?."

"Well..."

"Good. Go wash up," Draco instructed. "There's a bathroom available in every empty guest room. My bedroom is on the second floor. It's the only one with green door frames."

"Wait!" Harry cried.

"What?" Draco snapped, apparently annoyed.

Harry shook his head in shock. "I don't mean to make money like... like... I.. I just want to ask you for a proper job! One that can pay this thing."

Draco looked as if he might laugh again. "You can't pay that in thirty days. I'm offering you a deal," he said as he moved closer. Harry backed off when suddenly, Draco's arms snaked around his neck, bringing their faces closer. Draco's eyes looked even more amazing close up. Molten mercury.

"One night with me and you can have as much as you want." His fingers slowly stroked Harry's chin. "Well, you want to go to jail?"

"But that's going to get me in jail too," Harry said quietly.

Draco only raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Harry stiffened and started for upstairs.


	11. Chapter 11

The hot water poured down on Harry like rain. He gathered all his breath and sighed, hoping to relieve the heavy guilt he felt with it. He closed his eyes as the water showered down on his head, soaking his hair.

_Do you even know what you're doing? _he asked himself for the umpteenth time. _You know that this is wrong. _Prostitution. And what's more, for a man.

_Yeah... I know._

It was money. They _needed _money. That was the only reason why he was doing this; all he needed was one hundred and twenty seven dollars to pay that fucking doctor's bill and he'd be on his merry way. Nobody would care because nobody would know.

Harry dried his hair with a white towel that he had swiped from the hanger. Putting on the spare sleeping clothes that were set out especially for guests, he opened the door and stepped out of the steamy bathroom, leaving his dirty clothes on the floor.

_I am ready, _he told himself with as much confidence as he could muster. He forced his feet down the long hallway towards Draco's bedroom. The one with the green door frames.

He rapped softly on the door.

"It's me."

"The door's not locked," came the bored reply. Harry blinked and settled his hand on the doorknob. Trembling, he opened the door.

Draco lay there on his bed, reading.

Naked.

Harry blushed and directed his gaze away from Draco as the blond looked up to see Harry, marking his page and closing the book, putting it away.

"Come here," he ordered, gesturing Harry to step closer. "And actually lock the door this time."

Harry's hands, which were still shaking, closed the door and turned the key in the lock, before taking one last deep breath and heading towards the large bed. His eyes still refused to meet with Draco's as he approached the edge of the bed.

"Oh, you're chickening out again," Draco cajoled with a smirk as he watched Harry's quaking form and red face.

The boy only sniffed silently and kept his eyes on the floor.

"Well?" Draco scoffed, shifting to the right to make space for his- possibly- one-night companion.

The brunette hesitated.

"I don't bite," Draco teased. "Unless you want me to, of course. Don't just stand there like an idiot."

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself and climbed into the bed. Before he even lay down, he was suddenly pinned by Draco. He didn't even have time to gasp as the blond covered Harry's mouth with his. The brunette grunted into the kiss and stiffened when Draco licked his bottom lip, intention clear.

Harry refused to respond. Draco growled and released his mouth, obviously displeased.

"Rules," the blond hissed as he looked into Harry's green eyes. "You will not protest against _anything _and you _will _do whatever I tell you. Understand?"

Harry flinched at the tone of his voice and nodded.

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Draco taunted.

"Yes," Harry replied in words. "I understand."

"Good."

Draco fastened his lips on to Harry's again, roughly sucking and biting his bottom lip, demanding entrance. Harry opened his mouth obediently and Draco's tongue quickly slipped in, moving around in the delightful dark cavern, tasting every corner. Both of them sighed and gasped into the kiss. The blond rubbed his tongue slightly against Harry's. The boy responded instinctively, pulling them into a heated and fierce battle of clashing teeth and tongues.

The kiss abruptly ended, leaving them both hot and gasping for breath. They looked into each other's eyes, reading the lust each held. Shaking his head, Draco snapped back to reality and positioned himself on top of the boy, settling his legs on either side of Harry. His eyes never left Harry's lust-clouded gaze.

His hand moved to grip Harry's hips as he thrust forward, moving slowly to savour the feeling of their erections rubbing against one another through the cloth of Harry's nightwear. Both let out simultaneous moans as Draco thrust faster. As they were nearing their peaks, the blond leaned down and gently pecked Harry's flushed cheek, stopping his thrusting.

"Why did you stop?" Harry groaned heatedly as Draco kissed him on the cheek again. No response.

A hand hastily tugged at his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one.

"That's an expensive shirt," Harry reminded in a low whisper. Draco growled with annoyance and nuzzled Harry's neck.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered and sank his teeth into the soft skin. Harry let out a hiss of pain as Draco sucked on his neck, leaving a trail of bites from beneath his chin to his shoulder.

"No-no.. God..." he moaned, feeling himself grow harder. Draco's wondrous mouth moved lower, tongue swirling around one of the hard nipples, fingers pinching the other one.

Harry let out another soft moan. His chest rose and fell in a rather abnormal pattern as Draco abandoned his chest, tongue sliding out of his mouth to lick his sweaty skin. That wicked tongue slowly wandered lower and lower down his body, until it reached the bellybutton and made another swirl, causing Harry to shiver with delight.

"What do you need?" Draco asked demandingly, looking up at the the panting brunette. Harry opened his eyes- not even realizing that he had closed them.

He slowly blinked a couple of times, withdrawing himself from the world of pleasure that Draco had just drowned him in.

_What do I need? I- _His thoughts immediately fled his mind again as Draco's hand slid down his pants, stroking his hard member slowly. Harry's grip on the bed sheets tightened as he arched up and moaned.

"What do you need?" Draco asked in a quieter- but equally demanding- tone.

"...I don't know," Harry replied honestly, gasping out the answer, nearly incoherent due to Draco's hand.

The hand suddenly stopped and withdrew, making Harry whimper.

"You'll know," Draco whispered and smirked seductively as he licked some pre-cum off his fingers.

Harry jerked in surprise as he felt his pants slowly being dragged off him, pulled down by the still-smirking Draco, who looked up and watched him for a few moments, before taking him completely in.

He let out a throaty moan and slid his fingers into Draco's hair, gripping hard. A stream of nonsense flew out of his mouth as he let the older man play with him. Draco's wondrous tongue lapped at his length and, every so often, he would hum or moan. The vibrations making Harry's spine tingle with pleasure.

"Oh...yes..." he groaned and gripped at the green sheet beneath him after his fingers left Draco's tangled hair. Draco's hands pinned his hips down, not allowing him even to squirm. Harry made a sound of protest.

Chuckling, Draco took his mouth away just as he felt Harry climax. The white substance leaked down onto the sheet.

"God..." Harry sighed.

"I'm Draco, thank you very much," Draco said dryly. "Though I don't really mind."

"Stop playing!" Harry growled, receiving a raised eyebrow from the blond. "...Please?" he tacked on to the end.

"What?" Draco said with a gleam in his eyes.

"Please."

"Please who?"

_Goddamn it! _"Draco, please?"

Draco laughed as he traced Harry's belly button with his forefinger. Moving down the body slowly, he finally reached his destination, and he forced a finger into Harry's tight hole.

His body went stiff as he felt his muscles being stretched.

Draco moved the finger around, waiting a few seconds before adding another one. He scissored them and Harry cried out in pain.

"Shhhh. You want to be prepared don't you?" Draco whispered huskily.

Harry whimpered as the fingers moved around inside of him. His breath had grown short and sharp and he bite down on his own lips as Draco entered a third finger, stretching him even more. Harry let out another protest as the blond slowly moved them in and out for minutes. Finally, the digits were removed.

He spread Harry's legs and positioned himself in front of him, slowly entering the boy. Harry let out a scream as the blunt tip breached him.

"It's not going to hurt," Draco assured.

Harry bit his lips to prevent another scream as he slowly felt Draco pushing himself completely in. A low sound of a moan mixed with a growl drew itself deep from Draco's throat when he felt Harry's muscles tense up, squeezing his cock.

The little brunette beneath him squirmed uncomfortably as Draco rested his hands on his hips.

"Start," Harry whispered as he gripped the lime-green sheets, knuckles turning white.

"You're sure?" the blond asked, trying to catch his breath. "You're tight... I don't think I've prepare-"

"I don't care. Just..." Harry's legs suddenly weakened as he felt Draco pulling slowly out of him. He let out a scream of pain as he felt Draco pushing in again. The blond paused there and planted a short kiss on his lips.

"Good?" Draco asked as he gazed lustfully at the brunette under him.

"Please..." Harry gasped. "Please Draco, please."

Draco let out a soft groan as he moved in and out of Harry, beginning a slow rhythm. Gasps and whimpers of delight and pain came from the boy beneath.

"It's alright." A hand gently stroked his flushed face as the blond sped up. Harry's breath became ragged. "It'll pass, baby."

Harry only response to this was a loud moan as Draco thrust into him again. His whole body felt sluggish and all too hot. Everything was _melting_. The pain quickly passed away as pleasure built up. Sweat dripped from Harry's forehead as he met each of Draco's thrusts, wrapping his legs suddenly around Draco's waist, forcing the blond to slam deeper and harder. Both of them moaned at the change of angle.

"God... Harry," he heard Draco grunt in pleasure.

Harry smiled slightly and let go of all thought, giving in to his instincts completely.

Their moans echoed in his head like a strange dream. It felt _so _good. Sounded so good. And so right. Just for a single but eternal-like moment, stars blinded his eyes as he came on his and Draco's stomachs. The blond followed him immediately, spilling his seed deep within.

Draco collapsed on Harry, and the two lay there like that, both panting heavily, chests heaving and covered in sweat. Eventually, they fell asleep.

* * *

Harry's body tensed as he opened his eyes. An unfamiliar setting of green greeted him. He could see a window from where he was. The sky was just beginning to get bright. The sound of an old grandfather clock suddenly thundered from downstairs. It chimed five times- Harry counted- before stopping.

_Five in the morning, _he thought as he tried to clear his mind. _Just where the heck am I?_

He blinked a couple of times and tried to move his right hand, only to find it under something- or someone heavy. He looked down and his eyes widened. His body jerked, startled at the sight.

_Mal- Malfoy... I was..last night... I was.._His mouth went dry as he recollected what exactly happened last night.

He had come to Malfoy. He asked had for a job. Malfoy had offered him this and he had taken the deal; a fuck for one hundred and twenty seven dollars. So he was in Draco's bedroom.

_I have to go, _he thought to himself as the window showed the sky getting brighter and brighter. _I can just take the money and go. I'm only an one nighter after all. And besides, I've been gone all night. The others. They're going to wonder where I am._

He gently pushed at Draco, who was laying on the right side of his body, his head resting on Harry's shoulder. He gently pushed him again, hoping to roll the sleeping blond over so he could get up.

A sharp pain suddenly struck at his lower region, making him wince and look down. Harry blushed, wishing that he hadn't.

Draco's cock was still buried inside him, unmoved since last night. He immediately flushed bright red and gulped nervously. He slowly moved backwards, sliding Draco out of him one inch at a time.

"Harry..." The blond mumbled in his sleep, face scrunched up and moaning quietly. Harry flushed an even brighter shade of red at the sound and the _feel _of Draco's cock moving within him.

In one swift movement, Draco came completely out, followed by a trail of leftover white substance from last night. Harry gulped and gently, trying for the third time, pushed the whimpering Draco away.

The man groaned softly as he was shoved aside. His arms fell innocently on his sticky stomach.

Harry quickly and quietly got off the bed and walked out of the room, hoping that no one would be up this early to spot on a naked, out-of-place boy. In the hallway, he had to open up doors to several guest room's bathroom before he found the one where he had left his clothes in. Giving himself a good clean-up, he slipped into his dirty clothes and tip-toed again into Draco's room.

He found the trouser that Draco had been wearing last night in the living room. Sticking his hand into the front pocket, he pulled out the man's wallet.

Harry hastily took the amount he needed and stuffed the rest back into the wallet, before padding back to Draco's bedroom.

Draco was still sleeping.

_It would be rather rude of me to just leave like this, wouldn't it? _Harry thought quietly as he watched the blond.

He walked towards the right side of the bed and bent down, looking into Draco's sleeping face. A sinking feeling hit his stomach as he observed Draco's sharp-nosed, handsome face.

_Don't let it go to your head, idiot, _he mentally scolded himself. _You're only here for one night._

_But it would still be rude to just leave._

Harry's hand reached out, fingers slowly caressing Draco's cheek. Suddenly, before he even thought of it, he leaned over to press a tiny but lingering kiss to Draco's lips. Draco gave a little sigh in his sleep.

A goodbye kiss should be enough.

Or maybe he should leave something else too.

* * *

Before he even regained full consciousness, Draco Malfoy knew that something wasn't right. He let out a yawn as he stretched his arms and opened his eyes. The bed felt... empty.

"Harry?" he muttered as he sat up and yawned again. His whole body ached as he moved around. The brunette was, however, nowhere to be found. "Harry Potter?" he asked, this time in a louder voice.

He blearily rose from the bed and went into his bathroom. Maybe the boy was in there. He wasn't.

_He left?_

Draco stormed out of his bathroom, slamming the door loudly behind him. His eyes scanned the room, hoping that Harry might be hiding somewhere, even though he knew perfectly well that it was ridiculous and impossible. His eyes landed on a piece of paper in front of his dressing table.

The blond's eyes narrowed with suspicion as he marched over to the desk and picked up the note. In a messy hand, the following words were scribbled:

_To Draco Malfoy,_

_I don't really know what to say to you. This is quite awkward for me to write even after what happened last night. I just want to get straight to the point:_

_Thank you for the money you lent me. I want it to be __lent__, as you may not have known- I don't like prostituting myself, and I'm not willing to be a whore of any sort. I never planned it and I hope with all my heart that we can put last night past us. You might say that the reason I slept with you is because is that it was the only way you would lend me the money. You will get it back someday, because you will need it. The amount I took is exactly one hundred and twenty seven dollars, no more and no less._

_Last night was really one of the most amazing things that ever happened to me, even though it's wrong. I don't really think that I should thank you though. I just wanted to let you know._

_That's really all I can say, I guess._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry James Potter_

Draco's lips thinned at the last word. His hands formed tight fists as he stared at the note that he held in his hand. He then ripped the paper in half.

_A thank-you note? Don't make me laugh!_

Rip.

_You stupid, ignorant little boy!_

Rip.

Draco's teeth clenched hard as he continued to shred the note, cursing in his mind. A final rip and shreds of paper fluttered gently to the ground.

His anger did not go away as his eyes averted from one piece to another. The note was as clear as ever in his mind. His knuckles grew whiter and whiter as he clenched his fist harder. Blinded by rage, he punched the mirror in front of him.

The mirror formed spidery-patterned cracks. Several chips fell off.

Blood ran from his knuckles as he watched the glass pieces fall to the floor one by one. The crimson liquid dripped down onto the desk, making a small puddle. A drop of water landed nearby it.

Draco gasped, realizing that he had been crying.

* * *

Harry could see the boxcar just up ahead beside the little lake. He licked his dry lips as his heart pounded nervously at what awaited him. His hand was sweaty in its pocket, grasping onto the money. As Harry reached the door, he raised up his fist, preparing to knock.

The door burst open immediately and Ron's face greeted him for a second before the other boy pulled him in. Everybody looked up, startled.

"Where were you?" his best friend demanded. Harry flinched at Ron's tone and didn't answer.

"You had us all worried," he continued. "Where did you go last night?"

"Out," Harry replied quietly and looked down at the floor. "I was out."

"Thank the Lord that Percy didn't wake up!" Ron shouted. "He'd have been throwing a fit! Why were you out so late last night, not even giving us a clue where you'd gone? We thought that you'd left like Ginny!"

"Ginny's not back?" Harry asked.

Ron stiffened and shook his head. "I looked. I looked for both of you."

"I was just out," Harry repeated.

"Out doing what?" Ron snarled. "What-"

Before Ron could complete the sentence, Harry drew out from his pocket the one hundred and twenty-seven dollars, leaving everybody in the room shocked and speechless.

"I got the money," the brunette muttered. "I went out and got it. Now we don't have to go-"

"How did you get it?" Ron whispered, interrupting him.

"Someone lent it to me."

"Who?"

"Don't ask."

"Harry, who lent you the money?" Ron asked, still in that awed, but scared whisper. The twins only stared dazedly at the sum in Harry's hand.

"Someone."

"Your father has friends here?" Ron asked.

"Someone lent it to me," Harry said. "I don't have to pay it back for a long time so we're fine for now."

"Tell me the truth."

"I _can't,_" Harry said, tears suddenly welling up in his eyes. "Just let it go, will you? It's really nothing, Ron."

His best friend looked at him hard. "We could get in trouble."

"We won't," he whispered. "Just let it go."


	12. Chapter 12

Nearly two weeks had passed since that night with Draco. Ron had mailed the money and the bill the next day, still questioning Harry about the one hundred and twenty-seven dollars' origin.

_But where did it come from? _the redhead would ask over and over again. _Just who lent it to you?_

Harry never answered those two questions and instead always tried to change the subject to throw Ron off. His best friend didn't need to know what he had done to get it, how he had just agreed on something like that so easily. What he had done with Draco was illegal by the law, not to mention embarrassing and completely humiliating. But he'd done what he had to. They got the bill out of the way.

During those two weeks, he managed to obtain a position as a dishwasher in a little restaurant on East Boulevard stuck between the city library and a tall business building. The job paid four dollars a week, enough for them just to get by.

Nobody was sure of Percy's status yet. The eldest Weasley did start taking in more food, although it often came back up because he simply couldn't swallow, or because he vomited it back up later on. The cough didn't lessen in its violence; Percy was coughing night and day and couldn't talk two words without beginning to hack. He now rarely talked at all and, if he did, it would be about Ginny.

Ginny didn't come back. Nobody knew where she had gone and nobody spoke of it.

"I just saw the cutest girl in town!" Fred announced, grinning widely as he stepped through the door. "She had on that really adorable pink dress that I saw in one of those fancy dress shops. And she waved to me!" He jabbed his thumbs at himself to make his point, looking very smug.

"That's nice," Ron said dryly.

Fred wiggled his eyebrows. "She's your age, Ronnie."

Ron turned three shades redder from either anger or embarrassment.

"Aw, our little Ronnie-kins. All grown up and a man!" George let out a dramatic but rather fake wistful sigh.

"Shut-up," Ron snapped.

Dean was nearby peeling potatoes as the meaningless conversation -or argument for Ron- continued. A bucket filled with water and the clothes that they used for bed sat near the stove. The water was drenched red from the blood on the cloth.

Percy had been the one that slept in those.

The black boy took a deep breath to calm his trembling nerves as he struggled to keep a hold on the knife. He looked over at the sleeping Percy, whose face was flushed pink from a slight fever. It was his job to give Percy medicine every morning- it was his job to do nearly everything in the boxcar. Sometimes he thought it was a bit unfair- just because he was black didn't mean that-

But Percy trusted him more than anyone else here right now and, as if those slavish instincts still rested within his blood, he felt honored. Honored that a white man trusted him more than his own brothers.

The problem he faced, however, was the medicine. The cough syrups and the pills were nearly gone but Percy hadn't improved by much.

Dean thought that it was a bit strange- Percy should have been all right by the end of the drug's course- it had been two weeks since the eldest Weasley fell ill. Unless the doctor gave them the wrong medicines. Or maybe it hadn't been a simple fever and cough at all. After seeing the amount of blood on the sheet, Dean didn't think that it was from the mere infected wounds that Percy got from that sweatshop he had worked in. But he was no expert in the medical field.

"...Oh Ronnie and Pretty Girl, sitting in a tree-"

"Shut up!"

"K- I- S- S- I- N- G!" George sang.

"I said shut up!"

"First comes love-"

"I'm warning you."

"-Then comes marriage!" Fred continued.

"THEN COMES RONNIE-KINS WITH A BABY CARRIAGE!" the twins finished the song together, leaving their little brother with a red face and murderous expression.

Dean chuckled slightly, not loud enough to be overheard.

"Aw, Ronnie-kins is shyyy," cooed George.

"We must help him get over his fear," Fred said, smacking his left palm with his right fist. Their younger brother took a long, deep breath in a poor effort to calm himself.

"I SAID-"

Before Ron could continue, the door suddenly burst open. Everybody looked up to see a mad-looking Harry standing there. In the brunette's tight grip was a copy of a newspaper. Harry's jaw was clenched and his green eyes were dark with fury.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron asked his best friend in a small voice. The twins' grins had already faded from their faces. Dean stared at him, putting down the half-peeled potato and the knife.

"You didn't lose your job again, did you?" Ron asked, alarmed, desperately hoping that that wasn't the case.

Harry jerked, as if suddenly snapped out of his trance of anger. He shook his head and stepped inside the boxcar, closing the door after him.

Ron let out a relieved sigh. "Did somebody bother-"

The newspaper that Harry was holding onto when he came in suddenly landed in front of Ron, front page faced up. The headline read:

**BIGGEST WEDDING OF THE DECADE!**

**A life-bonding ceremony located in Springfield.**

"Why are you so mad about a wedding?" Fred asked, looking over Ron's shoulder to read the newspaper. "You're not invited?"

"Just read it," Harry snapped, taking off his coat and hanging it onto one of the nails that had been hammered onto the wall.

Ron frowned and began to read.

_"Just last Sunday, on a warm day in late April, a memorable bonding of two important citizens occurred in Springfield, state of Illinois. It was the biggest wedding of the decade, with the attendance nearly two thousand people- including president Hoover._

_The grand wedding presented a luscious cake, a buffet table- with countless choices-, professional musicians and dancers, and the attraction of much press, including the local newspapers and many radio stations._

_Who might be the lucky couple? one might ask. This glorious wedding is a celebration of a life long marriage of love between a forty-two-year-old Peter Pettigrew and his twenty-two-year-old fiancée of two years, Miss Ginerva Weasley, who now took her husband's name and thus became Madam Ginerva Weasley Petti-"_

Ron stopped right there and stared at the newspaper as if it were something vile and disgusting. He took his hand off the paper, eyes beginning to darken. To him, at that moment, it was something far beyond vile and disgusting.

The twins stared at the newspaper with open mouths and Dean froze on the spot as George stopped reading the article aloud.

Tension radiated around the room, so heavy that one could almost split the air with a hatchet. Neither of the twins were feeling jolly or cheerful. Fred had a scowl on his face and George's face was cold. Harry collapsed on a seat beside Dean, beginning to peel the half-done potato that Dean had left on the ground.

The black boy looked over at Percy, who was still asleep.

"She did it," George snarled, breaking the tension. "'Fiancée of two years, twenty-two years old,'" he quoted from the article. "What lies!"

"Madam Ginerva Weasley Pettigrew," Fred added darkly. "Yes, our little sister did it alright."

Ron still hadn't spoken.

"She looks old enough to pass," Harry muttered bitterly. Ginny did look old enough in that wedding picture with Pettigrew, all dressed up in that fancy wedding dress of hers, with all the make-up. God knows what make-up could to to a thirteen-year-old girl. She might not look old enough to pass for twenty-two, but heck, she'd look old enough for people not to question her age. "And no one would care as long as both of them were of legal age. Even if she's legal of age illegally. She planned well."

"Little slut," George spat. "Marrying a man for his money! Who taught her to be such a whore?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat. He tightened his grip on the knife, his hand trembling slightly before he could control himself. A shiver wracked his spine.

_I shouldn't even be talking right now. Considering what I did with Malfoy...But I didn't sleep with him because I want-_

_Wait. I did._

_But that's not the same thing, right? I didn't do anything wrong._

"Harry, you alright?" he heard Dean whisper to him. Harry nodded and sighed, hoping to rid himself of the dizziness spinning through his head due to his train of thought. What he had done was just fine. It was a one-night thing. And he had promised to pay Malfoy back someday. What he had done wasn't harming anyone.

"A complete disgrace to our family!" George continued. "Wait till mother and father hear about this, they'll go after her and teach her a lesson-"

"Madam Ginerva Weasley Pettigrew is an orphan," interrupted his twin suddenly, flipping through the article. "She even said so herself on page two. Her parents died in a train accident and she'd been living with her great aunt, who passed away when she was eighteen. Pretty sad life she had, huh?" The last sentence was mingled with anger and sarcasm.

"Pretty sad for us, too. She forgot to invite her own brothers to her wedding."

George was stunned for the first time in his life when he heard that. He leaned over and stared at the newspaper with disbelief. His stunned expression grew frigid as he read the lines of the article.

"She bailed on us just when we have a financial crisis going on. Yep, she ran to the richer guy," he said. "What a little whore. Don't you think so Ron?"

Ron flinched as if somebody had punched him. Not answering George's question, he stood up and dusted invisible dirt off his clothes. He was looking at the ground, trying to hide his face, but everybody could clearly see the glistening of tears in his eyes. A single tear drop rolled down his left cheek and he quickly wiped it away, sniffing.

Ron folded the newspaper as neatly as he could, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He looked at nobody.

"...Ron, we're sorry about that," Fred said quietly, sounding actually sincere.

His little brother did not respond, only walked over to his bag in the corner where they all had piled their belongings. He took out a box from his bag and stuffed the folded newspaper inside the wooden container. Then he put it back into the bag and tore his eyes away from it, not wanting to ever see it again.

"Nobody touches this box, you hear?" he ordered in a small, hoarse voice, the words seeming to fade into the air as soon as they came from his lips. But everybody in the room heard them and nodded, silently agreeing.

"And nobody tells Percy." This was spoken with a stronger and more commanding tone. Everybody in the boxcar nodded with agreement once more.

Percy didn't need any more bad news.

* * *

Draco Malfoy scowled at his father as he sprawled lazily on the sofa with Lucius pacing in front of him, lecturing the younger Malfoy on yet another topic. This time, it was about attitude with business partners.

"You must be polite yet demand respect at the same time. There's nothing worse than sounding stupid and childish at once," Lucius said, his gaze on Draco almost pointed.

"I know that!" Draco snapped, grinding his teeth with annoyance. What did Lucius think he was? Stupid?

"If you knew that, you wouldn't have done what you did today," Lucius shot back, his eyes narrowed dangerously at the memory of one particular meeting just that afternoon. Draco only glared at his father harder.

"That old man deserved every single word," he replied stubbornly.

His anger had not worn off like he thought it would during the two weeks. But then again, none of his bed partners had left like Harry Potter had. He was so mad that he even lost his taste for sex during the two weeks. No woman that he had met at any club had turned him on enough to drive away his anger.

Draco just didn't understand. He didn't even like that stupid kid like a... lover. It was more like he just wanted to experiment with the same gender and see what was different. Nothing much was different, as far as he could tell, and he had had girls as young as thirteen before. And Harry wasn't even one of the best he had had.

Maybe because it was illegal. Maybe that was what had made that so special. That, and the fact that Harry just left him like that. Nobody else had just left Draco Malfoy. They'd always stayed, attached to him until he could no longer take it.

His right hand played with the white bandage that was wrapped around his left hand, the fist he'd used to punch that mirror. Stupid thing to do really. Now he had to order a new mirror and it would not arrive for another month. The edge of the bandage was a bit dirty, Draco noted as he toyed with it.

Still, he didn't understand why that boy leaving him could make him so mad.  
Mad enough for him to yell his head off at one of Malfoy Inc.'s most important business partners and lose the chance at another million-dollar deal.

"You need to control yourself," Lucius snapped. "I don't understand what's been wrong with you lately. First, you broke the most expensive mirror in the whole mansion- your mirror. Then you got the nerve to take it out on the new butler- had I not offered that man a raise, he would have quit! Your language has gone far past what I consider acceptable from you; 'F' this and 'F' that. And now this."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing is wrong," the younger Malfoy said. "Even if something is, it's none of your business, now is it?"

"It's my business when it interferes with Malfoy Inc. It's also my business because I'm your father."

"Everything is just perfect."

Lucius raised one eyebrow. "When you're like that, it's not perfect. Did something happen to one of your one-nighters?"

Draco gave him a glare and turned his head away.

"Is that it?"

"Leave it alone. I know how to handle them by myself," Draco snarled.

The older Malfoy looked at his son with suspicion and sighed. "Draco, what kind of trouble have you got into this time?"

"I didn't get into any trouble."

"Well, if it's complaints from another one of those girls' parents, then I'm certainly not answering it. How many times have I told you not to mess with girls that have parents who will object to what you're doing, or have done to their daughter?" Lucius lectured. "And even if you are doing it with younger girls, certain tools are needed to prepare them. You can't just go and do it no matter how urgent it is."

Draco turned a slight pink at the thought of the way Harry had cried out in pain that night. He didn't use anything when he did Harry. Still, he said nothing and only turned his back to his father, staring at the painting of a couple walking in the rain.

"I think that I need to give you the talk again," his father said, finally taking a seat on the sofa. Draco blinked, turned around again, and moved as far away from him as possible.

"You know that I trusted you enough to let you actually have sexual relationships with women," Lucius began in a serious voice. "But with that comes responsibility; Narcissa and I do not wish to be grandparents when we're only in our forties and we certainly don't like that to happen when you're not married. An unmarried man being a father is great dishonour and bad luck. Abortion, however, is not out of question. But it is expensive. I do not wish to waste money on such foolish things just because of your mistakes."

His son raised one eyebrow at him and sneered. _Wasting money? We've got all the money in the world to waste. And you're here, talking about wasting money._

"And I don't really think you have what it takes to be a good father yet."

_You're one to talk, _Draco scoffed in his thoughts.

"When you make love to a lady, there are certain tools that a gentleman should use and prepare. Oral sex, for example, is one procedure that a man should do first before anything serious. Especially when it comes to virgins."

The young Malfoy snorted.

"This is not a joke Draco," Lucius snarled. "That's why I bought you those tubes of Vaseline."

"Vaseline is not for sex. It's for skin care," Draco snapped. "And I do use it sometimes. But I don't see why it's necessary, since all of them are such whores. God knows how many dicks have already been in their holes."

Lucius recollected himself from going into another lecture on language, closed his eyes and counted to ten. A sigh was heard later. "Alright. What's her name then?"

"Whose name?" asked a confused Draco.

"The girl that you got pregnant," Lucius said. "What is her name and where does she live? If she's bearing your child, then you must take the responsibility, give her some money or something. You can't have some back street lass using her kids to blackmail-"

"When did I say that I got anyone pregnant?" his son hissed. "Don't just assume things like that."

Lucius looked at him with a frown. "Then what's the trouble?"

"There is no trouble!" Draco shouted, finally losing his patience. "I had a bad week, okay! Now leave my fucking life alone and let me be on my fucking way-"

"I WILL NOT TOLERATE THAT LANGUAGE UNDER MY ROOF!" Lucius roared. His face was beet red and his lips were thin and white. His grey eyes flashed and narrowed at the sight of his startled son, who jerked at the sound of his father's yelling but held his own ground, glaring back.

"The best academies from Ohio to Arkansas did not educate you the way I wanted," Lucius began again after another long sigh, letting out as much anger as possible. "The tutors and professors I hired did not educate you the way I wanted. I cannot even educate you the way that I want. Do you know why, Draco?"

"Because I already knew all that stuff. Now if you would only stop pretending that I'm stupid and actually see what I can handle and let me do it-"

"Because you're spoiled and disobedient! Never have I seen another man's son be as disrespectful to their father as you have been to me. Where you get this attitude of yours from, I don't know. But when I made that threat, I did mean it; if you don't act mature and your age soon, Draco, believe me, I can leave you with absolutely nothing."

Draco's eyes narrowed as he took a long deep sigh.

"You wouldn't," he challenged.

"Wouldn't I?" Lucius retorted.

"I'm your only heir."

"But you're not the only Malfoy, and we're certainly not the only Malfoy family in the world."

He turned his head away from his father and slumped into the sofa once more, closing his eyes.

"You're a smart person, my son. Now if you'd just try and learn."

A minute later, he could hear his father's footsteps leaving the room. The clicking sound of the heels echoed in his head.

Like always.

* * *

Time flies like the wind, and before anybody expected it, it was already June twenty-first.

For some reason that none of them could understand, Percy did not get any better. The fever was mild, but still there. The cough, however, only got worse. The medicine had run out a month and a half ago, leaving Percy's only aids to be tea and water, like that doctor had recommended.

Everybody worried, but nobody called the doctor because of the last bill and because, simply, Percy wouldn't allow it.

_Don't you dare call that man, _he had said between coughs when they tried it on the first of May. _I'll kill myself if I find out that you called him._

He had said it so straightforwardly that everybody had became fearful. Ron, who had been going to get the doctor, had run back immediately into the boxcar.

From that day on, his brothers reacted to Percy's every need and sometimes even reacted for no reason at all except for the mere fact that he coughed. In a few weeks, Percy was sick of it and declared Dean to be his only attender, thus leaving his brothers to complain.

The day June twenty-first was a damp day. The sky was grey from the minor showers of the night before. There was still a little drizzle, just a little rain raining down onto the borough of Manhattan, making tiny splattering sounds. There was a light fog outside and most of the streetlights were dim, as if it were still early in the morning, even though it was already two in the afternoon.

Ron was bored from sitting in the same position for who knows how long. He tried to count sheep, recited all the poems he knew in his head, and constantly observed the boxcar like he'd never seen it before.

The twins were tossing a crumbled-up paper ball back and forth. On both of their faces was a grumpy and bored expression. The ball was flung from one to the other in a rhythmic pattern.

Dean was outside, "enjoying the wilderness", as he had told them. All the chores were done. The boxcar was sparkling clean. The food was there in the pan, ready to be cooked an hour before dinner. Through the tiny windows and little holes of the boxcar, one could see him looking up at the sky, sitting motionlessly.

Percy was lying as still as a statue on his blanket. The eldest Weasley of the group was staring straight up, blinking his brown, sunken eyes ever so often. His lips were dry and his hollow cheeks flushed with his fever. His breaths were loud and slow. The only sounds in the boxcar.

He wanted to move, to do something, to be useful. This wasn't the way that it was supposed to turn out. He was supposed to be the bread winner of the house, he was supposed to keep them all alive. Not Harry.

_They're awfully quiet, _Percy thought weakly. _Even Ginny. Where is she anyway? Every time I wake, I don't see her._

He wanted to ask, but his throat was too dry. He was afraid that if he started to talk, he might start coughing again. Coughing was not good.

_I want to get up._

The paper ball that the twins were tossing back and forth fell out of its usual pattern and rolled away. Fred and George sighed and rolled their eyes simultaneously, before doing nothing else except slumping.

Percy stared at the paper ball, which had stopped near their pile of belongings in the corner of the boxcar. He blinked twice, slowly. His fingers tingled, wanting to reach out and take that little crumpled-up ball in his hand, just to prove that he could still move.

His left hand moved slowly from under the thin blanket, he extended it further and further away from himself, desperately wanting to touch the paper ball. His brothers saw this and quickly jumped up and ran over to him, trying to assist- or trying to get him to lie down once more.

"Percy, what are you doing?" Ron asked as he held Percy's extended arms, tucking them back under the blanket.

"I want," Percy's voice croaked out. A tiny cough escaped his lip and he swallowed, trying very hard to prevent more from coming. "I just want to move."

"You shouldn't move," Ron scolded. "Just lie and rest. We'll get whatever you need."

"Help me up," Percy whispered stubbornly in a weak voice and held up a hand. "I want to get up."

"Stay in-"

"I-" Cough. Cough. Percy swallowed and trembled as a pain flooded his throat.

Ron winced as his brother turned his head and coughed loudly into the blanket.

Percy's right hand grasped the spot of the blanket he was coughing on and quickly folded and crumpled it.

"Percy, stay down and let me get you some wa-"

"No," another stubborn reply. "Help me up."

"Percy-"

Percy winced in pain as he bent his arms. He licked his dry lips as he slowly helped himself up. Every muscle in his body ached. His brothers held him by his back as he slowly rose from his "bed." They looked at each other with uncertainty as he tried to walk, stumbling before even taking his first step.

Fred caught him just in time before he fell.

"Damn it Percy," Fred cursed as he held Percy up. "If you want that damn ball so much then I'll just-"

"Let me get it," he said for the last time, in a demanding and stubborn manner. His throat itched, wanting to let out another cough. But he couldn't cough, not when he was so close. He tried again to walk, succeeding two steps, just enough to reach the paper ball, which sat still beside Ron's bag.

He closed and opened his eyes a few times and squinted, staring at the top of Ron's bag. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he bent down to retrieve the paper ball. Ron rushed instantly to his side, holding him by the arm.

Percy fell awkwardly onto the floor, knocking over Ron's bag.

"Be careful. Be careful," Ron muttered, helping him up.

"What's that box?" Percy suddenly questioned, pointing at an old, wooden box that had tumbled from the bag. Ron paled instantly, staring at the container.

"Oh, that?" He chuckled nervously. "That's nothing. Nothing at all. It's my private box. I put my... uh... stuff in there."

Percy nodded his head and closed his eyes. A deep, tired sigh escaped from his pale, dry lips. His hand went a little limp, enough to drop the paper ball that he was holding. His face scrunched up in pain as he gulped. Ron and the twins watched him. Finally he opened his eyes, looking at Ron.

"May I see it?" he asked in a shaky voice. "May I open it and-"

"No!" Ron answered quickly, causing Percy to stare at him with suspicion. "I mean, it's for my private things, of course. I wouldn't want anybody to see it."

His older brother nodded with understanding.

"That's fine. That's fine," Percy muttered. "Where's Ginny?"

"She's out, Percy, out."

"She's never here any more." Percy said faintly. "You need to keep her closer to the family Ron. Who knows what she could be doing outside with all those tramps roaming around the-" He paused to swallow. "The street... They like to play games with young girls."

Ron blinked and bit his bottom lip.

"Come on Percy," he muttered. "Just lie down and rest."

"They'd offer her things. Money," Percy continued. "And she'd fall for it. Ginny may be bright, but she's too innocent when it comes to men and streets-" Another pause as Percy fought the itch in his throat, determined not to cough in front of Ron. "She'd get kidnapped. Or raped."

Ron shook his head and his breath stopped short.

"She won't." He let out a fake little laugh. "Ginny will be fine, Percy, stop worrying your head off. Go to sleep."

He helped Percy onto his "bed."

"Let me get you some water," Ron offered.

"No. No water." Percy closed his mouth and took a slow, deep breath.

"You're sure?"

"Just let me rest now." Ron nodded and gently put a hand over one of Percy's.

"You rest."

"Tell Ginny to be careful."

A weak smile was offered. Percy closed his eyes and drifted off into his slumber. His body went limp.

"Watch Ginny..." he mumbled in his sleep a few moments later, startling Ron, who was still holding his hand.

The youngest of the Weasley brothers blinked back tears and took Percy's hand to his lips, gently placing a soft kiss on the palm.

_God, we're too late Percy. She's already gone._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Disclaimer: **I don't own "Jack and Jill." And I don't own the way it was used either. Joy Fielding, author of the novel _Charley's web _does. I took it from the book.

* * *

"_Jack and Jill went up the hill..._"

Narcissa grinned at her lover. "_To fetch a pail of water_."

The man in the bed put an arm around her waist and continued the nursery rhyme. "_Jack fell down and broke his crown..._"

_And Jill came tumbling after._

Neither of them said the last line of the children's nursery rhyme as their lips met again. It was a routine that they had created for themselves, almost a ritual. Every time after they made love, they'd repeat this old nursery rhyme.

Jack and Jill.

"I missed you, my Jack," she whispered seductively to him as she let go. "How long has it been?"

"I ran into some troubles," her 'Jack' explained.

"Troubles?"

"Troubles. Annoying troubles that kept me away," he said, as his hand caressed her breast, making her giggle.

"You're always in trouble," she teased.

"You should know."

"Mm-hm."

"There's Pettigrew's wedding that he invited me to. That bastard had the nerve to throw a wedding when he could have handed me the money that I demanded. We got into a little dispute on that."

"And he married that girl, Weasley or something?" she asked with a raise of an eyebrow. "She's so_y oung_!"

"She's thirteen, Pettigrew told me."

Narcissa sneered. "Pedophile."

"That's the same age you were when we met," the man reminded.

"But you were young. Younger than him... that old rat. I forget- how young were you? Mid-twenties?"

He smiled and waved that off. "So there's trouble."

"Enough trouble for you to abandon me for nearly two months?" she pouted and slapped him playfully on his arm, before she peered up at him through her thick, golden eyelashes, demanding an answer.

"Abandon you?" he said with mocking laughter. "Jack abandon Jill? Oh, the thought of it would be just horrific, don't you think? They went up the hill together, best friends, and maybe a little something more." He took Narcissa's hand and she, too, laughed.

"But it did happen, didn't it?" he murmured. Narcissa paused her laughing and gave him a questioning look. "Only _Jill _abandoned _Jack_."

"What?" she scoffed. "What gives you that idea?"

"Jill didn't tumble down after him," he said simply. "Jill _always _tumbles down the hill with Jack."

"Then who will pull Jack up the hill?" Narcissa said, smirking as her hand stroked his naked chest. "If Jill fell down too, that would be rather... unfortunate, don't you think? The hill is a _very _high way up. They might not have the strength to climb it again."

"Very true..." he muttered and reached for the pack of cigarettes lying on the table beside the bed. He took one out and quickly lit it with a match. 'Jack' took a deep puff and sighed. "How's your Knight in Shining Armor doing then?"

"Making more money." She laughed. "Aren't knights just wonderful? They think that every maiden is a damsel in distress." He gave her a look. "But of course, Jill prefers Jacks over any knights any day."

"That's better."

"Some of our business partners dropped out though. In increasing numbers. Two left Malfoy Inc. just yesterday. Lucius is getting worried," she informed.

Another puff of the cigarette. "Not many of my debtors seem to be turning in anything. I need five hundred thousand more for that ship of supplies from Canada by next month."

"Half a million? What are you buying?"

He raised one of his eyebrows at her. "It's not half a million, it's five hundred thousand dollars."

"That's the same thing."

"Five hundred thousand sounds far less."

"They're still the same thing."

He waved a hand at her. "I won't explain it to you, you would never understand."

She pouted. "Five hundred thousand is a lot."

He snorted. "You're married to one of the richest men in the country. Don't tell me that you can't afford to spare five hundred thousand."

"I can't," Narcissa said. "Lucius would notice. Five hundred thousand is still a big enough sum, you know. He's going to question me! And besides, you've never asked for more than two thousand at a time."

"Then take out two thousand dollars two hundred and fifty times if you have to," he snapped. "I want it by July the thirty-first."

* * *

July the thirty-first. Harry Potter's fifteenth birthday. And of course, he didn't tell anybody. He did what he usually did every single morning; he got up, cleaned and dressed, took a small bite to eat, and went to work. Ron didn't remember that it was his birthday. The others either didn't know or didn't care. That was fine with Harry. He didn't expect any birthday presents.

Ron was sitting by Percy's side, holding onto Percy's hand when he left. Dean was outside with the twins.

_Happy birthday to me, _Harry sang silently to himself as he strolled down the road...

"Do you need water, Percy?" Ron muttered. Percy, who had his eyes closed, shook his head.

"Go outside," he said. "Enjoy the weather. Just go."

"But-"

"I'll be fine."

Ron looked even more down as he observed, not for the first time, his fragile and sick older brother. Percy's lips were thin and dry. His cheeks were flushed red and felt very, very hot while the rest of his body felt cold._ Shouldn't it be impossible, _Ron thought, _for someone to be so sick for so long? Percy was supposed to recover a long time ago. God, what's wrong? _"You're not fine. You're sick."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

"Go away, Ron."

Ron let go of his hand. "If that's what you really want."

"I want to be left alone for a while."

"All right."

Percy could hear Ron's footsteps pausing every so often. He knew Ron was debating in his mind whether he should leave him alone in the boxcar. After a minute or two, Percy finally heard the closing of the boxcar door. He let out a cough, followed by a sigh of relief.

God, he was so sick.

He gently pushed the ragged blanket away from him and sat up slowly, a little at a time. It had been such a long time since he'd sat up straight. His spine felt like jelly. No, every bone in his body felt like jelly.

_What am I going to do?_

Nothing, there was absolutely nothing that he could do right then. He was a cripple. The very thought of it broke his heart. How old was he? Oh, that's right, eighteen. He was turning nineteen soon.

_How did I end up like this anyway? _A fellow employee, he remembered. What was that guy's name? John Goodman, that's right. John was nice to him in the sweatshop. He showed Percy how to operate the machines, how to fix the broken products, what to expect and what not to expect. John was a friend.

But he was always coughing.

Percy had recommended him to see a doctor, but John had said no. Had said that a doctor would be a plain waste of money. Sometimes John collapsed right in the middle of his shift and Percy would be there beside him, holding him up. Within a month of their friendship, John had been fired. Too sick to work, the boss said.

But he had been with John for long enough. Now he was the one who was coughing, who could endanger all his brothers.

He was dying.

Percy held himself steady as he planted one foot onto the floor, then another. Pain shot through his lower leg muscle, nearly making him cry out. He slowly stood up, holding out his arms to balance himself. His knees trembled. He felt as if he was going to fall down any minute, and perhaps he was going to fall.

But he couldn't. This might be the last time he was going to actually walk.

He took a step towards the corner of their belongings, eyes on Ron's bag. The wooden box that Ron claimed to be holding his secret possessions lay on top of Ron's bag. Percy felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Ron would be furious if he found out what Percy was going to do.

Ron was the brother that Percy knew the least about in the entire family. He knew Charlie and Bill; they were his role models. Charlie, who always got good grades and Bill, who was always Daddy's boy, working from dawn to dusk. Both of them successful and Bill already married. It was hard to miss out on the twins, who were always making trouble and were constantly the centre of attention. Ginny? Ginny was the only girl in the family, of course it was hard not to know her. Percy was responsible for her when his mother and father were out working.

But Ron? No, being Ron's older brother, he didn't know as much as he should have. He should at least make up for that before he died.

Percy finally reached the corner, right in front of Ron's bag. He bent down- oh, his back hurt- and picked up the wooden box.

Ron's secret.

His weak heart jumped at the thought of what was in there. The box was expensive, probably one of the family possessions that had been passed down from father to son. Maybe their father had given it to Ron for safekeeping? There was no lock on the wooden box. Percy easily lifted the latch and opened the box.

A piece of paper?

No, not just a piece of useless paper. It was a newspaper. Percy closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. Why was Ron keeping a piece of newspaper in the box and proclaiming it as his secret possession?

Percy took the newspaper from the box and placed the box down, struggling with his aching back. His trembling hands fumbled with the paper, trying to find the edge to unfold. He finally succeeded, opening up the newspaper in front of him.

The headline greeted him.

"Percy! No!" Ron's voice shouted. The door of the boxcar suddenly burst open and Ron was immediately by his side, snatching the newspaper away from him. But it was too late. Percy had already seen the headline. And though he had not read a word of the article, doubts were seeded in his mind.

"Give me that newspaper," he commanded in a hoarse, but firm voice. The twins and Dean also rushed in.

"NO!" shouted Ron, still clutching the newspaper.

"Give it to me."

"No," said Ron again, this time in a smaller voice. "It's- it's not what you think."

"What are you hiding?" he asked. "What don't you want me to know?"

"I'm not hiding anything," Ron lied, his face flushed red. "There's nothing on this piece of paper for you to see."

He tore the newspaper in half. "It's worthless. See?" He tore it again.

"Ron, why are you-" Percy paused and covered his mouth with his hand. Pain struck suddenly. His throat felt so raw.

Ron continued to shred the newspaper in pieces. His hand trembled. "Worthless," he muttered. "Nothing to read."

"Stop it. Give me that."

"No-"

"LET ME READ IT!" Percy roared. His eyes swelled up as the terrible pain in his throat struck once again. A surge of coughing surfaced, racking his too-weak body. His knees gave in immediately. His face burned, turning as red as his hair. Everybody rushed forward, holding him. Ron dropped the newspaper onto the floor and held Percy's arm.

The picture of Ginny in her wedding dress landed in front of Percy. Beside her stood Pettigrew. Beneath the picture read 'Peter Pettigrew and his new wife, Ginevra Weasley Pettigrew.' He felt Ron stiffen beside him as his eyes scanned the few words beside it. Blurry as his sight was at the moment, his mind took in every word. All of the sudden, the pain in his throat didn't matter any longer.

"I'm..." Ron started.

Percy picked up the piece of the article from the floor. His eyes, no longer scanning, were taking in what was in his hand, line by line.

"I'm sorry, Percy," he heard Ron mutter. "She ran away."

Percy didn't respond as he finished reading. He looked more carefully at the picture. A cold feeling suddenly settled in his stomach. Ginny and that man...

"Percy?"

"You didn't go after her," he whispered, letting go of the paper. He turned his head, trying not to wince at the pain. Ron stared back for a moment, then tore his gaze away, unable to say anything.

"We tried," Fred said, trying to explain for Ron. "We really did."

"Yep, you tried," he continued in that same whisper. A prickle of hot tears stung in the corner of his eyes. He didn't bother with it, didn't even raise a hand to wipe it away as he stared at Ron.

"I'm sorry..." Ron said, still not looking at Percy, drying his eyes with his hand.

"You just let her run away," he said, "you- you're her brothers." He turned to Fred and George, who backed off instantly. "What kind of brothers are you all?"

"We-"

"She's _doomed_!" Percy suddenly shouted. "Don't you _know_ what will happen to her? You should have stopped her! She-" An even more violent cough interrupted his words. He fell over, completely slumped on the floor, coughing away.

"Oh my God! Dean, get some water!"

Dean nodded and ran off outside, taking a bucket with him to fetch the water.

"Hold on, Percy," Ron muttered, putting Percy's arm around his shoulder so he could lift his brother up.

Percy continued to cough. His face was beet red and very heated. His bony hand gripped at Ron's thin shirt as his body trembled and racked. He tried to lift one of his hands to cover his mouth. Not quick enough. Several drops of pink landed on the floor just as Dean came rushing back in with the water.

"You didn't go after her," he continued in between coughs as Ron laid him onto the bed. He didn't bother to cover up this time.

"Percy, what is that pink liquid you're spitting out? Did you eat something?" Ron asked. He turned to Dean.

"He had some hot tea that I brewed for him this morning."

"You just let her run! You're her brother! You should have-" The cough interrupted again as Percy lifted his arms and planted them on the ground, attempting to get up again.

"Lie still," Ron commanded.

"You let her _marry_that-"

"STOP TALKING!"

Percy leaned sideways, coughing up more of the pink liquid.

"What is he coughing up?" Fred asked breathlessly as he arrived back from the lake. In his hand, he held a clean cloth, which he handed to Ron. "Is it something that he ate?"

"Dean, get more cough syrup!"

"We don't have any more!" Dean shouted as he snatched the cloth from Ron and wiped away the sweat on Percy's forehead. "Call that doctor now!"

"DON'T YOU DARE!" More coughing. More pink liquid.

Dean carefully looked at the "thing" that Percy coughed out.

"I think it's blood," he whispered, remembering all the red spots on the blanket that Percy had slept on. "God, it is blood!"

"But blood's red!"

"Call that doctor!" Dean yelled.

"Don't you da-" Cough.

"Go call that doctor, George."

"But, he said-"

"HE'S COUGHING UP BLOOD, YOU IDIOT! CALL THAT STUPID DOCTOR!"

Percy could not respond, only cough more. Seeing this, George quickly got up and ran out of the door.

"DON'T!" Percy screamed, trying to push himself up from his bed, arm stretched out, trying to catch George, who'd already gone.

"LIE DOWN!" Ron screamed back, struggling to keep Percy down. Dean held Percy by the arm, pinning him to the floor. Percy gasped as tears welled up in his eyes. More coughing.

"Where's the water?"

"He's trying to get up again!"

Fred quickly handed Dean the water. The black boy struggled, trying to calm Percy down for at least long enough to have a drink so he wouldn't choke. Percy pushed the bowl out of Dean's hand. It clattered onto the floor.

"We need to tie him," he muttered to Ron.

"NO! Get _off _me!" Percy rasped out.

"Get the rope over there by the stove!"

"NO!" Percy shouted.

"Dean-"

"We need to calm him down."

Ron's lips pursed together as he held out the rope to Dean. He handed another rope to Fred and took a rope for himself, and then they worked on keeping Percy still.

"_Untie_ me!"

Coughs, more coughs...

He sobbed, cried, coughed up more "blood." After a while, he gave up fighting altogether. He just lay there on the floor, coughing his life away. What could he do? Nothing. Being sick is being weak.

"You let her marry him," he muttered bitterly as he thought of the picture.

No answer.

"You let her die."

"She's not dead!" his youngest brother shouted. "She left us here to die! Stop blaming me!"

He could not reply. Coughing too hard. His eyesight had gotten dimmer and dimmer as he stared up. Ron's tear-streaked face was the last thing that he saw before he closed his eyes completely, and perhaps forever. He could no longer feel the damp cloth on his forehead. He lifted one of his hands, trying to move for one last time, and it came right back down.

Ron stared at that hand. Percy's cough was suddenly gone.

"Percy?"

A wave of panic washed over Ron. He quickly reached for the hand, trying to find the pulse. He found none.

"Percy you're not funny," he murmured. "Stop pretending."

No pulse beneath the chin.

No.

_Percy can't..._

"I'll get Ginny back," he falsely promised, trying to feel for a faint beat of Percy's heart in his chest. None. No thumping.

"Come on, Percy. Wake up," he said, slapping Percy's hollow cheeks gently. Percy's head only rolled over to the left. His eyes did not open. Nothing moved.

"Ron-"

"He's not dead Fred, he's just acting. Percy's a really great actor, remember?" Ron said quickly. "He used to play dead all the time to scare us when we were misbehaving. Don't you remember?"

"Ron, he's-"

"This is no time for games, Percy. Wake up!" A teardrop fell on Percy's face.

"Ron-"

"You can't walk out on us..." he sobbed.

"Ron-"

"What kind of a brother are you to lecture me? At least I didn't die!" Ron's fist tightened up.

"Ron! Ron, stop that!" Fred urged, grasping Ron's wrist and pulling him away from Percy. "Let him rest."

"He doesn't deserve rest!" Ron shouted, his chest heaved up and down with uncontrollable anger as he stared down at Percy's face. "And you know what, Percy? I'm so glad that you're dead, you stupid moron! I hope that little slut goes after you, too!"

"Ron!"

"DID YOU HEAR ME?" Ron shouted to the corpse, ignoring his brother.

Fred suddenly punched him, causing him to stagger and fall to the ground. Fred held his face in disbelief as he looked at Percy, who faced him with those closed eyes. Dead.

"...I'm sorry," Ron sniffed as another teardrop fell to the floor.

"I'll-" Dean said, suddenly standing up. "I'll cover him, I guess. If you want him covered." He looked at Fred for permission.

"Cover him."

Ron sniffed again. "She killed him."

"What?"

"She's a murderer."

Fred said nothing as he watched Dean get out some white sheets and drape them over Percy's body, one sheet at a time. Ron got up and backed up against a wall. He slumped down, also watching Dean. Dean finished quickly and gave a bow of respect.

The door burst open.

"I've got a doctor!" George shouted.

Too late.

"What happened?"

A brown bushy-haired woman pushed him away and stepped into the room. Her eyes wandered around the boxcar while everybody looked at her.

"I'm Dr. Granger," she said. "Where's the patient?"

Fred gestured at the pile of sheets that covered Percy. "You're too late."

"Hey, you're kidding me, Fred!" George yelped. "Where did you guys hide Percy?"

Ron watched Dr. Granger with dull eyes as she bent over and uncovered Percy's face. He could see her face twist with sympathy and pain, her shoulders give a little shudder as she examined his older brother. She gently pried open Percy's mouth, his eyes, looked inside his ears, up his nostril-

"He's dead," he finally snarled at her, causing her to look up. "What's the point of doing that? Get away from my brother."

"No, he's not dead!" George shouted with fury. He looked at Dr. Granger. "Go tell him that Percy's not dead! He's just taking a nap, right, nurse?"

"HE'S DEAD!" Ron roared back.

Dr. Hermione Granger looked back and forth between the two boys and covered Percy's face up once again. She stood up, not knowing what to say.

"Tell him, nurse! My brother is not dead! He's just sleeping, right, nurse?"

"Uh . . . I . . . can't help your brother, I'm afraid, George. He's in a better place right now," she said quietly, still glancing nervously back and forth.

"'Better place,'" Ron sneered, glaring at her.

"If . . . I can . . . uh . . . can recommend a ceme-"

"Get out," Ron said coldly, suddenly getting up and opening the door for the doctor.

"I'll just leave then," she muttered and marched out of the boxcar. Ron slammed the door after her.

"That wasn't necessary."

"Who cares?"

* * *

Even as far away as Harry was from the boxcar, he could somehow sense, from the distance, a gloomy atmosphere. What gave him that feeling? Because there was no steam coming out of the window from Dean's cooking? Or perhaps it was the absence of the light from the single candle that they always lit after sunset that he always saw by the window?

The cool summer wind twirled around him as he continued up the path to the boxcar. In his mind he still sang, _Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. _This was the first time in his life that his birthday was celebrated without a cake. Lily always baked him a cake of some sort; Lemon, coconut, chocolate...

He blinked back a tear at the thought of Lily's cakes. His mother made the best cakes in town, even better than the bakery man.

_Happy birthday to me, _he sang silently, hoping to forget her. He placed his hand on the doorknob and pushed the door open.

Everybody sat around the room.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Nobody answered him.

He looked around the room with suspicion. Everything looked pretty much in place. The candle was not lit though, nor was the stove on. A bowl lay on the floor. Beside it was a puddle of water. _What's going on? _he asked again, this time to himself.

"Everything all right?"

_No, not all right._

White caught his eyes. Blankets, rags, clothes, mountains of them, all white, covered a human figure. For the first time, Harry noticed that everybody was staring at it.

Percy was nowhere to be seen.

Panic rose quickly as his heart sped up. "Where's Percy?" he asked.

"In a better place," Ron answered with a mocking sneer. "Floating above the clouds, with angel wings."

Everybody in the room stiffened, but nobody said anything.

"Can you imagine Percy with angel wings, Harry? I can. Mother always _called _him an angel," Ron spat.

"Oh God..."

_No, you're hearing things. You're just upset. Just... _He paced around a few times before settling into a corner, gazing at the white sheets.

_Happy birthday to me, _he sang.

"She's a murderer."

"Stop saying that, Ron," Fred said, speaking for the first time.

"Well, she did murder him. If Percy hadn't known about her... 'glorious' wedding, he would have still be alive!"

_Happy birthday to me..._

"She wouldn't care! All she cares about is being rich! We couldn't give her a castle, so she ran off! And if she hears that Percy's dead, will she care? No!"

Harry covered his ears up with his hands, trying to drown out Ron's words. _Happy birthday to me._

"And he still defended her!" Ron said, his eyes filled with tears again. "'You've got to protect her!' he said. Well apparently she doesn't need it, Percy! She doesn't need us! She doesn't need you! She doesn't care! You hear that?" he said, addressing the blanketed figure. "_She doesn't fucking care!_"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. _Happy birthday to me._

"Why isn't he answering me?"

_Happy birthday- stop... Just stop it._

_Stop._

_Stop._

_Happy- No._

_Stop._


	14. Chapter 14

A week had passed since Percy's death. A week of grieving, and of not going to work for Harry. Four days since they had built the coffin for the corpse. Three days since they had dug the hole. Two days since they had placed Percy's body in the coffin and the coffin in the hole and buried it.

It was a silent and gloomy week, though if people were to look at the weather, they would have said that it was a good week. The sun shone all seven days and the stars twinkled brightly during the nights.

Mother nature cared not for Percy's death, not even giving them a proper bad day, with rain and thunder.

It was the seventh night of grieving, and Harry closed his eyes. All the Weasleys were outside by the grave, just looking up the sky and, occasionally, speaking to Percy as if their brother were alive, not dead.

Harry and Dean were inside, grieving in their own way. Dean had not shed even a single tear, though the black boy had stared continuously at the corner where they placed their belongings. Harry only stared dully at whatever moved; bugs, mice, the flicker of the candle.

"He was a nice person," said Dean suddenly. Harry looked up. A light of interest and surprise lit his dull eyes for the first time that week. They hadn't spoken all day.

"Who? Percy?" Harry asked. Dean nodded his head. "Yes, I suppose that he was."

"He was one of the few people in the whole town that was actually nice to me, though he had made it clear that he didn't want to be friends," Harry's companion continued.

"He was a nice person," was all Harry could say in return, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Percy had tried to be everybody's friend, but it was pretty obvious why he didn't want to be Dean's.

"He always tried to be fair, even to me. He even tried to invite me to one of his birthday parties, but his mum wouldn't allow it." A flash of hurt shot through Dean's large brown eyes as he thought of the memory. "The next day, he sneaked me a piece of cake and apologized."

"He was a nice person," said Harry again.

There was a moment of silence as both of them stared at the candle, the dripping of the wax, and the soft swaying of the tiny flame.

"Yes, he was a nice person," Dean said finally, breaking the silence.

"Yes," Harry agreed.

An awkward tension filled the room as they watched each other. And then turned away. Outside, they could hear Fred softly talking, Ron sniffing, and George attempting to make another "corpse joke", at which no one laughed. After a minute, Dean got up and walked towards that corner. He picked up his bag, a brown sack with minor holes in it. Harry watched him as he opened it and rummaged through his things.

"What are you looking for?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper as a faded, green shirt fell from the bag.

A pair of socks fell out, followed by a bandanna. A few more minutes of rummaging.

"He left you something," Dean finally answered. Harry cranked his neck, watching with even more interest.

"Percy left me something?" he whispered.

Dean hesitated. "Yes."

"What did he leave me?"

Dean didn't answer him, only going through his sack once more. Finally he reached down to the bottom of the bag, trying to feel for the "thing". He finally grabbed a hold of whatever it was and pulled it out. Harry thought that he looked like a magician pulling a bunny out of a hat, something that he saw at a fair when he was little. But it was not a bunny, for whatever reason that Harry thought that it would be. It was a sealed envelope.

"He wrote me a letter?" Harry asked as he got up and took the envelope from Dean's hand. The paper's surface felt rough, old. On the edge of the paper were several tiny teeth marks that Harry could only guess to be mice's.

"No," Dean answered. The black boy took a deep breath. "It's your father's suicide letter."

He looked down at the letter, his back suddenly tensed up as he saw his father's handwriting on the front. _To Harry Potter, _it said. _From James Potter. Please give this to my son._

"Percy told me to keep it. He said that you might want it someday."

"I don't want it," Harry said flatly, staring at his father's cursive penmanship, expressionless.

"Keep it anyway."

"I thought he burned it. I told him to burn it," he muttered, pushing the letter aside, not even opening it. "I don't want to read a coward's suicide note."

"It's your father's last words."

Harry only glared at him coldly, not replying. After a moment, Dean turned away.

* * *

"Do you want to know what I found out just this morning when I went to the bank?" There was a snarl mixed in Lucius' voice as he glared back and forth between his son and his wife. In his hand was a coffee cup, which he was gripping onto so hard that, if he hadn't been so furious, he would have worried about breaking it.

Draco put down the dime novel that he was reading as Narcissa set down her coffee cup calmly. She raised one of her eyebrows at her husband, face bored, uncaring. She met Lucius' eyes, her eyebrow rising even higher.

"Someone took out half a million dollars ten days ago from our joint account, _Narcissa_," he said, specifying out his wife's name.

"So what of it?" she asked him stonily, breaking the locked gaze and taking another sip of her coffee. Black, no cream, no sugar. That was how she liked it.

Lucius' eyes narrowed as he took a deep breath. "What do you need half a million for?"

Draco sighed and picked up his book again, trying to block out- and hopefully avoid getting into- what he foresaw as another one of their long debates. _There they go again, _he thought, as his eyes strayed back to where he left off in the book.

"It's not half a million," Narcissa snapped, using the tackle that Jack had used on her. "It's only five hundred thousand dollars."

Lucius clenched his teeth with fury as he slammed his cup onto the table. Coffee spilled onto the wooden surface and dripped onto the floor, forming a small brown puddle. He took no notice of it as he continued to glare at his wife.

"Don't give me any of your nonsense, woman," he hissed at her. "What did you do with that half a million?"

She shrugged and shot him a look of disgust. "Cheapskate," she muttered under her breath.

"_What did you do with all the money?_" he roared at her, fist tightened.

"I spent it! What did you expect? That I fed it to the fishes? she shouted and flipped her hair at him. Lucius' grey eyes narrowed even more as he watched Narcissa. Anger danced within him as she crossed her arms, flipping one of her legs over the other and sneered. She was lying.

"Who did you give it to?" he snarled, coming closer to her.

"The fishes down in the Hudson River," she snarled back, staring straight at him, not even flinching.

"Don't play with me."

"I'm not playing with you."

"Who did you give the money to?" he demanded again.

"Mind your own business!" she finally shouted, standing up. They glared daggers at each other on the same level, same height_. If I was wearing my high-heels, then he'd be shorter than me_, Narcissa thought, and sneered even more. Jack was taller than Lucius, better.

"It's my business when you mess with _my _money," he said, nostrils flared as he pointed an accusing finger at her.

"You're just cheap," she answered back.

"Now which one of those male prostitutes was it that cost you half a million?" he asked icily.

"I don't heed to hire a prostitute," she snapped, her chest heaving with anger. "Now get your nose out of my business and keep it out!"

"Who did you give it to?" he demanded for one last time. Draco watched his parents from behind his dime novel, half curious.

Narcissa's lips curled up, preparing to shoot another stinging insult at her husband. Her blue eyes darkened, boring into Lucius' grey ones. She rethought, though, deciding not to throw him the insult.

"Jack," she said simply instead, biting back a snicker as she watched her husband's face transform from anger to confusion.

"Who's Jack?"

"The man that I gave the money to," she said. Another simple answer. And before he could ask any more, she quickly took her handbag that she had with her and left the room, slamming the door after her.

"Who's Jack?" Draco asked, putting down his book. Lucius hissed and left the room as well, having no answers. Draco shrugged and picked up his book again.

* * *

When Harry went back to work the next day, he found out, not very surprisingly, that his dish-washing position had been replaced by another boy. A twelve-year-old named Colin Creevey from Rhode Island. What little hope he had with him vanished as the owner tossed him a couple of dollars and told him to go on his way. His shoulders slumped as he walked out of the restaurant, feeling all of the stares upon him.

He didn't want to go back to the boxcar to tell everybody about the loss. True, they expected it. They all did. Jobs were rare and replacements were easy. But still...

Harry walked silently across the park, passing a couple of kids running around the trees, chasing the squirrels and picking bugs off the ground. One or two stopped to look at him, but they all ran away as soon as he started to stare back.

Harry watched with a lump in his throat as an eight-year-old held the hands of his three-year-old little brother, trying desperately to catch up with the rest of his siblings. All the children were skin and bone, dressed in thin and dirty rags.

_What would they do when winter hits?_

He should feel lucky. He _was _lucky.

He didn't feel lucky.

He jammed his fists into his pockets and forced himself to walk on. He should go back home and tell everybody. It was late and they needed to know soon so they could start the job-hunt again. They needed jobs.

The sun was setting already, which means that it was probably already seven O' clock, at least. Harry squinted up at the sky for a moment before looking down and sighing. His stomach quivered and his legs felt soft from walking for so long.

If he headed back now, he would probably get home by eight or nine, the exact time that he would be back if he did have his job. He would tell them later. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe not at all. Tomorrow, he would try his luck again at job-hunting, and when he found a new job, then he would tell them.

Yes, that's what he should do.

Harry sighed for one last time and started to run. Wind blew past him as the trees started to sway. The heat of the summer day was already gone, replaced by a cool breeze. The sky was orange, clouded. Tonight, there would be rain.

He stopped twice for rest, three times trying to look for a clock, and zigzagged around the streets, buying time so he could get home at the right time. Finally, he stopped for one last time, staring at a grandfather clock outside an antique shop. It was exactly ten past seven. Harry ran at full speed.

* * *

The first thing strange that he noticed was Percy's tombstone; it was knocked over, revealing a bit of the coffin top. Harry stopped to place it back, frowning at the thought that maybe the Weasleys got into another fight. He gently brushed away the bit of dirt that got stuck on the surface, wanting to kick the door open so he could yell at them for disrespecting Percy's grave. But it was none of his business. He shouldn't interfere; He wasn't a Weasley, nor was he related to one.

"Hi Percy," he muttered to the tombstone as he sat down beside it.

No answer.

_I'm stupid to expect an answer, _he thought. Percy still seemed alive to him after the nine days.

"Don't tell Ron or the others, okay?" he continued, feeling even more stupid. "I lost my job."

He stopped for a moment, as if waiting for Percy to reply.

"You're disappointed in me, aren't you? I'm disappointed in myself, and everybody will be disappointed too if they find out." He sniffed, feeling tears at the corner of his eyes. He wiped them away, cursing under his breath for talking to a dead person.

"But don't tell them. I don't want to disappoint any more people. Because I'm not going to tell them. Tomorrow I'll find work again, and they won't ever have to know." Who was he kidding?

Silence.

"That's why Ginny left, isn't it? She was disappointed in me, probably thinking that I wouldn't make a good enough husband for her," he said, then paused. "Everybody would be disappointed if they knew what I've done." His thoughts flashed back to that night with Draco Malfoy.

"I've done such disgusting and disappointing things. Stuff that nobody would want to hear about. Stuff that _will _make everybody hate me. Everybody would be disgusted, and every one of you- even you- would... see me in a whole different way. And you wouldn't like me anymore."

Silence.

"I said too much. I shouldn't say any more. I'm going inside, alright?" he said, and then pretended that Percy said yes.

"See you tomorrow Percy," he said, then bit his bottom lip. "Wish me luck. I hear that people who pass away will protect their living loved ones. Give me your luck. I need it."

Silence.

"I'll go inside now," he said at last. "And I'll yell at them for knocking over your tombstone."

He gave the tombstone a gentle pat as he got up and dusted his pants, trying to get the dirt off and headed for the door.

The house felt cold, too cold and too silent. Harry frowned as he came closer to the front door. He knew that there had been some days when Dean didn't make dinner because he knew that no one would eat it.

_Maybe today is one of those days, _Harry thought gravely as he placed his hand on the doorknob. His stomach gave a little rumble. Harry shook his head, trying to distract himself from his hunger, and turned the knob, pushing the door open.

It was a mess.

"Ron?" His voice echoed around the room, causing him to stiffen.

"Fred? George?" Everything was knocked over. The pots and pans were on the floor and some ashes were scattered beside the stove, which had been turned over. All of their clothes were a heap in the middle of the room. Their bags were ripped open, half of the stuff missing.

"Dean?" They left? Why did they leave?

Harry let go of the doorknob as he walked further into the room, eyes scanning frantically. "What's going on?"

No, they didn't just leave. All of their clothes were in that pile. But Ron's wooden box was missing, along with one of Fred or George's good shirts. All the knives from the wall where Dean hung his cooking equipment were gone too. A white wool sock lay on the floor by itself.

Dean's sock. Dean had worn it this morning. But why did he leave it lying on the floor?

_Something happened, _Harry thought, his breathing becoming sharper and sharper as he went through the clothes. _But what? Where is everybody?_

Fred and George's polka dot sweater. Ron's blue shirt. Ron's trousers. Dean's bandanna. Percy's sock. Harry's sock. Ron's... Dean's... Harry's... One of Ginny's skirts... Ginny's pink sweater... Percy's brown working shoes. A pair of gloves. Ginny's hair tie. Almost all of their clothes were there.

_What's going on?_

"Ron?" he called out again.

The candle was knocked over. The matches lay scattered around it. A couple of them were used.

But Dean always got rid of used matches.

In one of the bags was a bottle of vodka.

They drank? No, they didn't. They didn't drink. They couldn't. There was nowhere for them to get such a thing. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head a few times more. It was only when he opened his eyes again that he noticed the neat pile of cigarettes in one of the bowls. Not them. Someone had raided the boxcar. But who? They didn't upset anybody. What could they have done?

A flutter of a piece of paper as the breeze travelled through the room. Harry's entire body tensed up at the sound as his eyes scanned, this time carefully, around the room. They landed on an opened envelope.

His father's suicide letter was unfolded, lying on the floor by the envelope. The paper waved at him.


	15. Chapter 15

His breath caught as he gazed at the fluttering piece of paper, eyes widening. A chill ran up his spine as the breeze grew just slightly stronger.

He stumbled backwards, gazing at the paper with pure fear. It seem to be speaking to him, beckoning him to come closer. His father's ghost had raided their place? A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead at the very thought.

"Dad?" he called out, voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

_You're being too paranoid._

"Dad?" he said, louder. The paper fluttered even more.

_No, it's not possible. Stop being so stupid. _It wasn't his father's ghost. There was no such thing as ghosts.

Somebody– maybe more than one person – had been in their boxcar. Somebody caused all the mess; the cigarettes, the empty vodka bottles. Somebody had gone through their things, and taken them. Somebody was responsible for his friends' absence. And that somebody had torn open his father's suicide letter.

But who would have done it? Harry closed his eyes, trying to remember anyone that he had offended. Nobody, if he didn't count that Pettigrew man, and that was only... not even an insult.

It obviously had something to do with his father, or they wouldn't have messed with a simple letter.

Harry slowly got up from the dusty floor, eyes still on the letter as he bent down, picking it up from the floor. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he started to read.

_Dear Harry,_

_By the time that you read this__**, **__I will probably be dead. I'm sorry to disappoint you and your mother. This was not supposed to happen. Nothing had turned out the way I had planned for us. And on top of that, I think you've probably heard of our – no, _my - _debt to Tom._

_He came to our house a week ago, or a week prior to the date of this letter, demanding to have all of the money in a week- the day of my death, you could say. I was thrown into an impossible situation. Our house covered up some of the debt. Several antiques and some of your mother's jewelries helped to shrink the debt's size. But it wasn't enough, Harry. I still owe him a total of two grand, and I'm penniless now that we've sold the house and the trinkets__**.**_

_I've known Tom for a long, long time, and he's not a patient man when it comes to money business. If he wants money by a certain date, he'll make sure that he gets it no matter what. I can't give it to him, and he'll kill me if I don't. He'll torture me first, and then kill me. I know him too well, I know exactly what he's capable of._

_I'm sorry that I have to leave you like this, Harry. I've got no choice. Suicide is easier for me._

_With love,  
James_

Harry's body froze as he stared down at his father's writing. He quickly scanned the letter once more, trembling with disbelief that was quickly replaced with another emotion- rage.

'_With love'_?

This was not the way that a father should love his family. It never was and never would be. No loving father would abandon his family because of a two thousand dollar debt and an insane money loaner after his head. Or at least, he wouldn't abandon what's left of his family.

Harry regretted even looking at the letter. He should have burned it the day Dean gave it to him. He should have...

_Wait. _Harry frowned as his hand let go of the letter. His fingers were smudged with fresh, black ink. There shouldn't be ink; the letter was months old. Looking at it again, he could make out an arrow and the words '_turn to the back'_. Harry's frown deepened. This was not his father's handwriting.

He turned to the back.

_In addition to the two thousand, there's a few years of interests that your poor father did not count on. The debt is now five thousand dollars. I want it within a week, young Potter, or your friends will be seeing their brother soon._

_Find me on 15 Henry St. Go up to the desk and ask for Riddle. I'll see you._

_Tom Riddle_

* * *

Ginevra Pettigrew raised her glass of red wine to toast the thin, black haired man in front of her, as she stood by her husband's side.

Her red hair was up in an elegant bun with several red curls dangling from it. She wore several silver pins in her hair. Her face was masked with powder and eyeliner, lips carefully painted deep red with coats of lipstick that had taken her quite a long time this morning to do so. She had on a dark red, skimpy, low-cut dress that showed off her cleavage, the dress decorated with gemstones. Around her neck was a necklace of huge diamonds. Matching earrings hung from her ears rather painfully, made her felt as if she had elephant ears, but she kept smiling.

It was another of Pettigrew's typical parties, and there she was, posing as his perfect little trophy wife. Young, beautiful, stupid.

She gave a little bow to another gentleman as Pettigrew shook his hand. Apparently, her husband's newest small, but growing business in Virginia was successful, and one of his larger businesses was planning to move more into the upper states, expanding. Another one he had just sold off this weekend, bringing him a nice sum of ten million dollars.

That was good. More money for him just meant more money for her, even if that money had been obtained by cheating. Peter was a cheater and a liar- that was what had gifted him his high position in the society. He was a cheater in both marriage and business matters.

By eight o'clock already, she could already see that he had his eyes set on Mr. Rosier's young wife, Hannah Rosier, who felt rather intimidated by the attention given to her from someone who was not her husband. Ginny sneered at Peter as he turned his back to her. Being married for over two months, Peter had only bedded her four times, each time only because the woman that he had been chasing didn't fall for his little "game."

She scowled slightly as Mrs. Rosier backed off immediately, muttering some excuse about finding her husband. If Peter could not lure her to his bed, that meant that he would have to come to Ginny's again. Ginny hated that; he was old, with a body like a sewer rat. Hairy and disgusting.

She held up her glass of wine and stood by her husband's side once again as Mrs. Rosier walked quickly away from them. Peter scowled and led Ginny away to greet another guest.

She was, in fact, his fourth wife. Mrs. Peter Pettigrew, number four.

Wife number one married Peter when she was twenty. He was twenty-one then. She was a plain looking young woman, Ginny noted from their wedding picture- the only picture of them. They were a happy couple in that picture and, of course, Peter was actually handsome. Wife number one had helped Peter through university with her factory money. Plain but kind. She reminded Ginny of her own mother.

Peter met number two during his university years. She was a sister of one of his good friends, born into a middle class family, aged twenty-four. Peter was twenty-seven. They married right after he got divorced from number one. He was still handsome in his second wedding picture.

Number three was thirty years old, and a rather beautiful flapper that Peter had employed. She was merely an assistant, though a brilliant woman who could not lift her voice or show off her intelligence no matter how she tried because of her gender. Credits for things that she had done had always been taken by men. She had a two month affair with Peter before Peter divorced his previous wife, moving on to her. Within a short time, number three had opened up his first business for him, under his name of course.

They stayed married until Peter became successful with his second business. Then he left her cold. She was too old to be pretty, too old for his liking. Older men like young girls.

And in came number four; her, Ginevra Weasley.

Of course, she wasn't as dumb as most people at this party thought that she was. Before Peter had officially proposed to her, she had made him pay the government a princely sum to change her age on every legal documents there was of her, making her legal of age to do anything that an adult could do.

That was only part one. She also made him sign an agreement that had been viewed by lawyers and approved by courts. She was not about to be abandoned like number three. If Peter ever left her, she want to make sure that she at least got something out of the marriage.

Her salary as his trophy wife for the time being was fair enough. For every month, he had to give her one thousand dollars pocket money to spend as she pleased. For every year that she stayed married to him, he would have to give her thirty thousand dollars that would be transferred automatically to her bank account - to be opened up by the next April.

Ginny gave a little smirk that was almost invisible to the eye. She planned to stay married to him for a long, long time. And that meant no getting in the way of her husband's work; smiling and looking pretty for his guests and friends; doing what he said; and, of course, no cheating.

Or, the way to put the actually unofficial agreement that she had in mind, no _getting caught _cheating.

Why not? He cheated all the time, and right in front of her. But who was she to complain?

If he ever got tired of her and left her, he would have to leave her a sum of ten thousand dollars plus one hundred dollars every month.

Yes. She smiled again, raising her half-empty glass of wine, again, to toast another guest. She planned well, and she would survive this depression as if it didn't affect her. Unlike her brothers.

Her expression darkened just a bit at the thought of her brothers, but she swiftly brushed it aside.

Ginevra Pettigrew no longer had any brothers.

* * *

"Detective Diggory?" Lucius Malfoy snarled into the phone, which was glued to his left ear.

On the other end of the line Detective Cedric Diggory, a private investigator, shifted in his chair and went through his files of regular clients. He took out the folder labelled Lucius Malfoy, stayed silent for a moment before returning to the phone. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. What can I do for you this time?"

"I need you to find a person for me," Lucius said, his voice tinged with anger at the very thought of that person.

"Should I contact my partner as well?" Cedric asked him. His unofficial partner in business, Seamus Finnegan, was an assassin. They both kept separate businesses names, but had been best friends since college and had worked together for cases ever since. Of course, Cedric does all the homework and the official businesses, like handling lawyers and influencing the government and so on. Seamus does all the dirty stuff. Private investigators were not killers, and Cedric was just better than Seamus at tracking people down.

"No, I need information of him, not him dead." Then Lucius paused. "At least, not yet."

"Name?" Cedric asked. He pulled out a blank sheet of paper from one of his cabinets, found a pen, and got ready to take notes.

"Jack," Lucius answered.

Cedric wrote down the name and then stopped, frowning. "Jack who?"

"Just Jack."

"I need a last name, Mr. Malfoy. Otherwise it'll be impossible for me to find the Jack that you want," he said, twirling his pen. "Let me tell you that Jack still happens to be a rather popular name, despite it's old-fashioned-ness." He cringed a bit at his habit of using fake words.

"I don't know that bastard's last name," Lucius snapped. Cedric held the phone a foot away from his ear, looking at it for a moment before returning to his client.

"Then I'm afraid that I can't help you," he said simply, starting to put the phone back on it's cradle.

"Wait!"

The private investigator scowled silently and picked up the phone again. "Yes Mr. Malfoy?"

"I need to find that son of a bitch, and I know that you can do it," he snarled. Cedric let out a low whistle. When a client cursed, he must be really mad. "He stole half a million dollars from under my nose!"

"Wow," said Cedric, impressed. "How did you find that out?"

"Because my slut-of-a-wife gave it to him!" Lucius shouted. Cedric chuckled. The man was jealous, he could tell it from his voice. "There's many Jacks running around this country, I know. But it's not every day that a Jack gets half a million dollars."

"So, you're telling me to find a Jack for you that got half a million dollars, huh?"

"That's right."

"You sound mad enough to kill him. Are you sure you don't want that, Mr. Malfoy? You're our best client, after all. Thirty percent off for you, how does that sound?" Cedric offered with a grin.

At the other end of the line, he could hear Lucius scoffing. "I'll think about that offer later, but you dig up as much information as you can."

"Uh huh."

"And I mean everything, every little detail. I want to know it all, from where he lives to how many times that bastard masturbates per day!"

_Slam, _went the phone.

Cedric stared at it and chuckled again. It's always so fun to hear his clients getting mad over the phone, and Mr. Malfoy was extra entertaining.

Now, Jack...

* * *

"Get out!" the man shouted at Harry as he roughly shoved the boy out of his shop. "Can't you read the sign, hobo? 'NO HELP WANTED'!"

Harry stared at the front door of the grocery shop, face flushed red with embarrassment. He could feel all the eyes on him, staring at a dirty, rag-wearing boy with messy hair, who had just been thrown out of a shop. A mother who had her arms around her two children moved away from him, all three were dirtier than he was, or maybe he was dirtier than them. Did it matter?

He finally turned away from the shop, discouraged for a moment before fear ran through his veins again at the thought of the note. He had forgotten about that for a moment, too filled with humiliation. He steered his feet towards the next opened shop, holding his head up high. Before he even reached within five feet of the door, the owner stuck his head out and gave him a cold glare.

_Go away, _the stare told him. _Go away, hobo._

Harry quickly turned away and hurried down the street. After one or two blocks, nobody stared at him like an outcast anymore. People went passed him, taking him for just another one of those hobos.

"I'm no hobo," he muttered as he came to a stop. He looked down, staring at his torn and baggy pants, covered with dirt. His feet cover with so much grime; mud, pig shit, chicken scraps and other stuff that he didn't even want to name. His hair was more messy than usual. He was filthy.

_No wonder they all turned me away, _he thought as he slumped down onto the ground, leaning against the wall of an old concrete building. _I _am _a hobo. I look like one, I smell like one, and... and they think that I'm disgusting._

He watched men in jackets joining a line on the other side of the street, waiting for a loaf of bread to bring home. The line continued on for several blocks, leading into the door of a church. His stomach rumbled as he saw a man coming out from the other door, holding his bread.

He hadn't eaten in two days; Tom, and who ever he had with him, finished off most of the food in the boxcar. Percy's money box was smashed open, all money gone. What little food that was left, Harry ate.

And now here he was, on the last day of the job hunt, avidly staring at the man with the loaf of bread in his hand as he walked down the street. He licked his dry lips with hunger as the man walked past him. Thoughts of stealing it formed in his mind. The man turned around as if knowing he was there all along, and gave him a look before continuing on his way.

Harry let out a sigh and closed his eyes, hoping that he could die right then so he didn't have to face what was going to happen the next day.

Like James.

Harry stiffened as he thought of his father, who he had called a coward for leaving him with this mess. Was he a coward like James? Like father, like son? Is that expression true?

"You're being stupid," he finally said to himself after a moment.

Tomorrow. Tom needed the money by tomorrow. Even if he found a job now, it would be impossible. It was alreadyimpossible to come up with that kind of money in a week, much less in a day. Who could afford to lend him that amount, and in cold hard cash?

_Draco... No, you haven't paid him back yet._

_But who else would even give a shit about my debt or my friends? Not like Malfoy would, but..._

_I don't want to do it._

His body shivered from the memory of that night. His cock gave a little twitch and he blushed, ashamed that he even thought about it. That night had been the best night he'd had since he'd arrived in New York. Draco had lent him money. Draco was not afraid to lose one hundred dollars.

_But it's not one hundred, it's five thousand._

Would Malfoy spare him five thousand? Harry found that thought impossible. And to ask him for money was whoring. He had promised not to whore. It was disgusting and low, especially when Harry and Draco were both males. Not to mention it being illegal, and the shame of being looked down as inferior by the rest of society.

_But Ron'll die, and so will Fred, and George. And Dean, if they haven't already killed him._

The sun was setting.

* * *

"I look ugly," he said to himself as he stared down at his reflection from the lake beside the boxcar. "And I still smell a bit."

His reflection gave him no answer.

It was dark, almost nine o'clock when Harry finally got ready. He had on his shirt and his best pants which, even though they were his neatest, already had tears and fading spots. He had washed his hair, trying to calm the wild mess but had no success. And even though he just had a bath, the disgusting smell still lingered on him.

"He's going to call you a liar, and he's going to laugh." He bit his bottom lip, talking to himself. "He's going to call you a fag, hobo, disgusting."

He turned away from the lake, unable to look at his reflection any longer.

"Percy?" he whispered and went to sit beside Percy, "do you think that people like me go to heaven with people like you? You know, us... whores?"

No answer.

"I hope I can still go to Heaven."

Silence.

"If you were alive, would you think I'm disgusting?"

Silence. "

"Would he turn me away?" He looked at Percy's tombstone. "Please don't let him turn me away."

A cricket chirped.

"Please Percy," he said once more, his eyes stinging with tears "These wrongs are for your brothers. Don't let Draco turn me away, even if it's wrong."

Percy, of course, gave no answer.

"I should really go," Harry finally said. He got up and dusted the dirt off his clothes. It had to be at least nine. Draco might have been home, but he might not. All Harry could do was hope that he was at home and that he wouldn't be turned away.

The moon seemed to be following Harry as he walked silently away from the grave. Taking some twists and turns, the brunette finally got onto the street side. He walked slowly, dreading going back to the mansion, dreading being laughed at.

He knew that it wouldn't work. It shouldn't work. But it worked before, not that he wanted it to, of course.

After ten minutes, he could spot the mansion, standing out like it always had. Several lights were on, indicating that at least _someone _was home.

Heart pounding against his rib cage, Harry moved closer to the mansion, looking above him, trying to find Draco's bedroom. He remembered Draco's bedroom. It was the one with a balcony and windows in nearly all walls of the room.

It had a green door frame, Harry remembered, smiling a bit.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. The mansion was so big, where could Draco's room be? He didn't want to ask for trouble, which he would be certainly asking for if the butler or somebody in the family opened the door and didn't know who he was.

Perhaps Draco wasn't home. Harry's heart felt heavy, mind pleading for Draco to be there. There was no way he could find him in the busy streets. He couldn't go inside a bar- he was too young and looked like a tramp. Draco would only go to one of those well secured speakeasies, not some dump.

If he wasn't home-

Harry's eyes lit up as he heard familiar laughter coming faintly from the other side of the mansion. He quickly turned the corner, scolding himself for being so stupid. The mansion was on a corner. Draco's room could be on the other side.

And there was Draco's balcony.

Harry's fast-beating heart jumped into his throat as he caught sight of the faint outline of Draco Malfoy from a window beside the balcony.

"Thank God," Harry murmured, then smiled. "Thank Percy."

He was about to go up to the front door to knock when he heard another's laughter. The laugh belonged to a woman. He turned around once again to see the outline of another person- with curves and long hair- taking Draco's arms. She whispered something and he laughed again, with her giggling. They quickly moved away from the window.

_He's taken for the night, dumb-ass._

The balcony door opened and Harry watched as the woman stepped out, dressed in a pink night gown. No older than twenty-five, curvy, beautiful, holding Draco's hand, trying to drag him out.

_Do you really think that he'd prefer you over her?_

A lump settled in his throat as his breath quivered.

_You're so naive._

He quickly turned away from the mansion as Draco stepped out onto the balcony beside the woman. The power-walk turned into a full speed run.

He headed for down-town of the city, trying to get lost in the crowd like he'd done in Sarasota. Faceless people passed him by as he continued walking.

Draco wasn't available.

He needed the money by the next day.

Ron would be killed.

So would the twins.

And Dean, if he wasn't already dead.

_If he wants money by a certain date, he'll make sure that he gets it, no matter what._

He needed money. Harry sighed weakly as he leaned against a post. His stomach gave a loud rumble, demanding the attention that it never received. The smell of pizza invaded his nose, overwhelming the rest of his senses. His eyes had gone a bit blurry as the smell drifted towards him, again and again. He looked up, hoping to find the pizza store.

Right next to the pizza shop was a jewelry store. The jewelries on display winked at him from the front window. He stepped closer, eyes mesmerized by the price tags that each piece was accompanied with. Two hundred dollars for this ruby necklace, eighty-nine dollars for that ring, one hundred and ninety-nine for the pair of pearl earrings...

All the jewelry and all the money those were worth, if only all of it were his.

He glanced past the window displays and into the store itself. The jewelry inside was better, probably costing more money.

A man with beady raccoon-like eyes glared at him, making Harry flinch. He took a deep breath as another gemstone winked at him from the corner of his eye. The man was still glaring.

_Go on, _those little black eyes seemed to say. _Take them. Take them and find out what's going to happen if you do. I dare you, little boy._

Harry shivered under those eyes. A cool wind washed over him as his eyes averted once again to the jewellery. Those precious gemstones could save his friends' lives, just the ones on the front window display.

Harry looked at his "reflection." He was skinny, a bit dirty and smelly. His arms barely made muscles. He hadn't eaten in days and he was hungry and weak. But those urges were so strong. His friends needed him. If he could only take the jewellery.

There was a rather large rock on the ground. He picked it up. The rock was heavy and the glass looked thin. The man was busy with a couple of customers.

Harry hurled the rock at the window.


	16. Chapter 16

The shatter of the window echoed in his mind like a dream. His hand quickly shot forward, aiming at the jewelries, taking as much as he could fit into his hand in that one grab. He could hear a woman screaming at him. But her screams echoed and faded just like the sound of the shatter.

_There's the pearl earrings..._

_Take that piece, you can't leave without that..._

"Thief!" shouted the woman again as she lunged at him. He swung his right leg and kicked her with full force, knocking her aside, not caring what would be his consequence later on as he took the most expensive thing on the display; A diamond engagement ring with 24k silver, decorated with speckles of gold around the band of the ring. The diamond alone should worth at least one thousand dollars if he judged it by the size.

_Will this be enough?_ He had nearly everything...

Time seemed to be passing so slow for him. It was almost as if somebody had slowed down the speed of time, magnifying each second to ten for him. He could still hear the screaming from the woman on the ground. He could see the way that her pained face twisted with anger as she clutched one of her legs, which was bleeding, glaring at him. One of her arms stretched out, and her mouth spilled some of the most vile words at him.

_I had done that. _It was a hard kick.

Two men appeared from the door behind the counter. The beady-eyed man pointed at Harry.

_That's your cue to run..._

He broke into a run, kicking the woman on the ground once again. She howled out in pain as he ran passed several drunks wandering around the street. In his hand, he still clutched onto his friends' lives, those tiny gemstone pieces. Two blocks away, he could hear the woman's shouting again, this time with rage.

_I kicked her. I kicked a woman._

It was not his fault. She was trying to stop him. Tears blurred his eyes as he speeded around a corner. There was more than two men chasing him, he could tell from the sound of the footsteps. He couldn't see where he was going, but he did not raise his hands to wipe the tears away; his hands were too full of the stolen goods.

Choosing money over life. _And I beat up a woman for that._

_She was trying to stop me. She was trying to do what's right._

_My friends could have all died._

He didn't even flinch as a shot rang out, indicating him to stop and surrender. They must be pretty close on to him to do that. His feet felt like a pair of... machines. They were the only things that was really acting on him at the moment, going in the same pattern towards the same direction, increasing speed every once in a while.

The second shot rang out.

The rest of his body was numb; he couldn't even feel the load of jewelries in his arms. His head was so dizzy.

"Stop right now!" one of the man shouted.

_Will they cover the five thousand?_

He did not hear the third shot as he turned a corner again, not even looking at where he was going. This road was narrow, very empty and dark. Something told him that he had made a wrong turn, but he shoved the thought away, not caring. All he had to do was keep running. They would stop chasing him soon enough. But this street...

"Get him! He ran into that alleyway! GO!"

_What? What alleyway?_

His body suddenly hit a brick wall. The force of the slam threw his body back. He nearly fell, but recovered on his feet quickly_. Brick wall? Alleyway? I'm... I've..._

"There's he is!"

_How could I be so stupid! I ran into an alleyway._

_Where can I run now? _Turning his head this way and that, he saw no exit. He could feel the thumping of his panicking heart in his throat. He was breathless and his legs were tired. His arms still felt numb. The tears had long fell, but everything still seemed so blurry to him. He blinked. New tears.

Someone suddenly pushed him onto the ground. The jewelries in his arm went scattered everywhere. A cried of despair found its way out of his throat as he tried to pick up as much of the jewelries as he can. Some one kicked his hands, sending them scattered once again. Harry looked around for the source of the kick when suddenly, another something- a man!- sat on him. Harry felt as if his spine was cracking into pieces as he lay flat on his chest. He cried out in pain as more tears welled in his eyes.

"I've got the boy," the man on top of him said to his comrades. Harry let out a soft sob as he turned his head to get a look them. There were six of them; one sitting on top of him; one sneering down at him, obviously the leader; four of them gathering up the scattered jewelries.

_No! They're mine_! Harry thought with anger as he attempted feebly to shove the man away. The man growled and twisted his arm. He let out a wail as fresh tears came pouring out. A large hand suddenly found its way to his throat. He gagged as the hand tightened around his neck.

"What do you say that we kill him and leave his body here," the man on top of him suggested with amusement. _Wham!_ A fist made contact with Harry's head and he cried out again. The leader glared down at him coldly and said nothing to the suggestion.

"Got everything?" he snapped at the other four men instead. They were all on hands and knees, searching for something. In their hands clutched the jewelries. Harry stared silently as one of the gemstones winked.

"All except that diamond ring, Peru made. Boss paid a hell of a price for that one," one the the men answered.

"Well, find it," the leader snapped again.

"I still say that we kill the brat," the man sitting on top of him said, baring his yellow teeth at Harry. "And then we feed his guts to the dogs. How does that sound, little boy?"

Harry made a choking noise in response. The hand around his neck tightened again, making it nearly impossible to swallow.

"We'll give him a good beating first," the leader finally said. "And then we'll take him to the boss and he gets another one."

Harry's heart jumped in fear at those words. The conversation between the men continued. Gulping and gathering up the last of his strength and courage, he placed one of his hands onto the hand around his neck, and dug his fingernails into the hard flesh. The man on top of him howled in rage as a stream of swear words came flooding out. The shouting made his head throb with pain. Harry pried the hand away as another blow came for his head again. He ignored the throbbing of his skull and bite down hard onto the hand, giving it all he got left. The man jumped away and kicked him as he attempted to get up.

A fist collided with his mouth when he was half way up. A stick whacked him on the leg, making him fall once more.

"Little brat!" the man snarled.

"We can't find the ring," Harry heard one of the men reported to the leader as blows struck again and again. Rocks hit him on his arms as he attempted to shelter his face. One rough hand suddenly grabbed him by the collar and threw him against a wall. By this time, he was quite sure that he had been deformed. If the beating come anymore, he'd surly die here.

And yet, he still clutched onto the ring.

Money over life.

His tears stung his swollen left eye, making it even more painful than it was already. A kick on his side. A punch. A hand around his neck once more. His mouth filled with blood as he gagged again. He coughed the blood up.

_I'm sorry, Percy,_ he thought as tears continued to run down his face.

"Die brat," the man hissed.

_No..._

A blade was suddenly brought by Harry's throat. He gasped with fear, unable to move as the blade made a small cut on his throat, barely skin deep.

"We've check everywhere for the ring."

_I need this ring._ Harry's hand squeezed the ring as another cut was made. The man sneered and placed the blade onto Harry's neck again. Harry gulped, eyes widened with fear as the blade pressed into his flesh. Before it even penetrated, the man put the blade away and landed one final blow before he got up.

"That blade was just sharpened this morning. I can't wait to use it again," he said with a creepy smile.

"Did you check the kid?"

"No."

_I won't give it to you._

"Well, check him!"

Some one kicked him and then he felt his clothes being patted and searched. His pocket turned out. No ring. Harry lay motionless as they continued.

"Pry open his fists," the leader commanded.

"No!" Harry suddenly shouted, surprised by his own voice. He had never sounded so hoarse, so... broken in his life. _Is this really me talking? _"It's not in my hand." A really stupid attempt at a lie.

One of the men snorted and took one of his fist. Harry's other fist immediately swung and punched the man in the face. A punch was returned to him a second later.

_I need to get out of here._

"We should just kill him!"

"Our jobs were not to kill people," the leader said as he bend down to face Harry. His face was so close that Harry could practically smell his sour, musky breath. He fought the urge to throw up as he stared into the man's cold, black eyes. "Come on, little boy," he cooed.

"I don't have it," Harry answered, his fist tightened around the ring again. The leader's face remained expressionless, though obviously not believing the lie. Harry gulped and held his breath, hoping that the man would let him off.

"It's in his left hand." He had noticed the squeeze.

"So we force it out," another man said. "What do you suggest that we do?"

A cold grin invaded the leader's face as he stood up. Harry's eyes never left his face.

"The boss won't notice a missing hand would he?" he slurred. Several men chuckled at the joke as the grin melt away, leaving the man's face expressionless once again. Harry's stomach gave a lurch at the suggestion and the mental image of his own hand lying by itself on the ground. The leader's mouth widened into a smirk, his hand went under his shirt. A minute later, it reappeared with a pistol.

"On the other hand, the boss won't mind a dead body either, though the living ones are more entertaining."

"Please, no..." Harry whimpered. The man's other hand went into a pocket and took out a cigar. He took a lighter from one of the men standing beside him, and lit the cigar up, taking a long drag, staring up at the dark night sky. His comrades stared at him, not knowing what to do next.

"The kid," one of them reminded him after a moment. The reminder was returned with a icy glare that soon made its way to Harry.

"Kill him and take the ring. It's nearly midnight anyway, so nearly all of the cops are on breaks. Make sure you do a clean job. Last time that I let you do it, we had a whole squad of polices after Boss' head. In the end, Fudge was the one that had to go, remember?"

All of them stiffened.

"Or I could do it," he said as he locked gaze with a terrified Harry. "What do you say my boy? You could have it slow or you could have it fast."

Harry's whole body went numb as those words. A chill shot through his pained spine as he closed his eyes, saying his last prayer. The man must have taken this as a yes to the latter offer, because a click was then heard- probably the man preparing the pistol. Harry quickly said sorry to his friends and Percy as he felt the mouth of the pistol touching his head.

"Cover up all the evidences," the leader hissed. Another click was heard.

A drowsiness slowly invaded his mind as the men set to work on the order. He hadn't had a proper night of sleep in days. Good, he was going to die while he was sleeping. That's better. His mind was still on alert for the third click as his body went limp with defeat and exhaustion. His grip on the ring softened and he wait, waiting for death to come.

Then the hard mouth of the pistol was suddenly gone. An echoing sound of fists punching against a face. Harry stiffened.

"What the fuck did you do to him!!"

_What?_

_Wham! _The sound of somebody being thrown against a wall. Harry opened his eyes a crack, trying to see what was happening.

A leg kicked one of the men in his private region. The guy who had sat on him before was suddenly gutted in the stomach with a punch. The pistol was snatched out of the leader's hand without a warning, suddenly positioned onto the leader's head.

Five men on the ground. One man's hands up in surrender. Surreal.

And that voice.

Draco Malfoy.

"Well, what did you do to my friend here?" he hissed, a dangerous look on his face. The leader's eyes widened with fear at the sight of his own weapon turned against him. The five other men lay frozen on the ground, listening.

"He- he tried to rob our-"

"Why is this gun loaded?" Draco asked in a cold voice.

"Uh-"

"Are you trying to kill my friend?"

"He- he tried-"

"You do realize that I'm a valuable customer of that little speakeasy that you opened by the back of your little shop, right?" he interrupted, his tone a bit calmer. "Do you really want to suffer from the lack of business, because I know a lot of great places in the city that aren't yours."

"Uh-"

"And I trusted that you bunch of wannabe wangsters had actually taken the time to know the polices' patrolling schedule."

"We don't kn-"

"Because there's one of their cars going around right now. They're only a couple of streets away. I could tell them to pull over and give you guys all a ride. You look like you need one. Do you need a ride from the cops?"

"Th- that won't be-"

"Then you can all walk right?"

"Ye-"

"So get on with it," he snapped, pulling the trigger back, ready to shoot if necessary. The six men gathered themselves up immediately and ran out of the alleyway, stumbling and falling along the way. Draco's pistol followed them till they were gone. Harry watched them go with relief. A sigh escaped from his lips and he started to close his eyes.

Without a warning, a hand suddenly snatched him by the collar, forcing him to get up. Harry, startled, quickly placed one of his feet onto the ground, one hand on Draco's shoulder and tried to stand the best he could, falling again rather awkwardly. Draco held him as he stood straight up.

"Thank yo-"

_Slap._

He was stunned for a moment as the sound of the slap rang in his ear. He blinked a few times, taken back by it and looked away from the blond after he caught the sight of his murderous looking eyes. He could feel Draco's burning gaze on him, his face flushed deep red with shame.

"You're the most idiotic person I've ever met," Draco snarled at him after a moment. Harry flinched at his tone of voice and stared at the ground, not wanting to give any reply.

"Don't you know that shop is a speakeasy in disguise? Don't you know that the city's full of places like that?"

"... No," he answered.

"What were you thinking?!"

"I don't know." He lifted a hand up and wiped the tears away.

He could hear Draco taking in a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized, not knowing why he had to except that he just had to say that to somebody.

"You're so dense," Draco snapped in a low voice. Harry flinched again and took a step back. His fist tightened around the ring that he still held on to, eyes on the ground. He was too ashamed to even look at Draco. Draco took a step towards him and he backed away further.

"I saw you running away from my balcony," Draco said quietly after a deep breath. A lump formed in Harry's throat at the thought. Fresh, hot tears came flooding in his eyes. The tears stung his skin as they rolled over his bruises and cuts. He let them fall. His swollen left eye was probably blue by now. "Why did you run away, again?"

He coughed on his own spit, feeling very much like a little kid who was being scolded by his parents. His body shivered.

"You were looking for me, and then you ran away," Draco said again. Harry sniffed and sighed, trying to calm himself down enough so he wouldn't sound like an idiot when he answer. It only caused him to cry even harder.

"Why didn't you just knock? I could have the butler get the door for you," Draco said. "But no! You have to run away for no reason from me and go rob a jewelry shop that's been owned by a gang! And you have to get yourself beat up! Now look at you! You're a filth!"

Even Draco thought that he's a filth. Harry's bottom lips trembled as tears after tears invaded his eyes like a water to a faucet.

"Why aren't you talking?"

Harry took a deep breath and mumbled his answer.

"What?" Draco snapped. Harry took another deep breath as silence settled between them. Further away, they could hear the sirens of the police car.

"You- you we- were busy," he finally said after a moment. He let out more sniffs as the interrupted silence stretched on. His face ached as his dirty sleeves touched his wounds.

"No I was not," answered Draco quietly with a frown after a while.

"Ye- yes you we- were. You ha- had som- someone in yo- your room a- and..." Harry trailed off from there, choking on his words.

"What are you trying to say?"

"There was a woman in your room!" Harry finally shouted, and turned red from even having to say it. He backed away further, going out of Draco's range in case Draco want to slap him again or something.

The blond only stared with puzzlement. "Of course there was a woman in my room. I bought her home from a bar and then you were-" He paused there, and rethought what Harry had said. "You were..." he repeated his words again.

Harry only nodded, waiting for Draco to yell at him and call him names.

"You came to me and then left because she was with me," Draco whispered with disbelief. Harry nodded again. "I..." The blond stopped there, not knowing what to say.

"I ne- need mo- money," Harry said between sobs. "And I tho- thought that yo- you might be ho- home..."

"Well, I was home."

"I tho- thought that yo- you mi- might be home a- alone..." Harry said with quivering breath. "And I tho- thought I you mi- might still-"

A pair of lips stopped the upcoming words. A pair of arms snaked around his waist. A tongue licked his bottom lips, darting out ever so often. He felt something nibbling gently on his bottom lip as one hand touched his left eye and ran down his cheek. The tongue traced over his parted lips and went in. Harry's body relaxed and slumped. His hand let go of the diamond ring, letting it fall onto the ground as he placed his arms around Draco's neck, melting into the kiss.

Draco wanted him. The thought made his heart thump. Harry didn't give a care to the pain of his swollen lips, nor the aching of his spine, too drowned in the pleasure of even tasting that mouth again. He didn't care who saw them. They finally pulled apart, Draco's arms still around him.

Draco wanted him.

"Now tell me why," he commanded.

"I thought that you don't want me," Harry answered.

"Why would I not?"

"Because I came to you for money and I still owe you-"

"You don't owe me anything," Draco said firmly. "You earned it."

"I'm a guy, and I'm filthy. And you had that woman with you and-"

"You look beautiful."

"I'm deformed."

"So we just have to re-form you then," Draco answered and tugged at Harry's hand. Harry pulled back.

"I need money," he said loudly. The blond turned around.

"I know that," he said. "I'll get you the money ready by tomor-"

"It's five thousand dollars."

The blond stiffened and looked at Harry with disbelief, astonishment written on his pale, handsome face. "How..."

"My father died. He killed himself."

"That's sad-" Draco snorted, thinking of his own father. Harry stopped, frowning at the sarcastic answer before pushing the thought aside.

"He left me the debt."

Draco paused. " He left you a five thousand dollar debt and jumped off the roof of his house."

"It was the local church's roof, not ours."

"You owe some guy five thousand dollars," Draco said, not giving a care to that correction.

"My father's debtor came to me and my friends' place last week and- and... raid it. He said that he would kill them if I don't have the money by tomorrow and I don't have the money so I came to you-"

"Why didn't you come to me from the beginning?" Draco demanded.

Harry gulped. "I still owe you-"

"I told you that you earn it!"

"By sleeping with you."

"And that's wrong because?"

"I'm being a whore," Harry answered. "To another man."

"You waited a whole week to see me when you could have had the money on day one and had you friend back by day two. You're not a saint, Harry. Stop trying to be one!"

"I'm not trying to be a saint! I'm trying to not be a whore!" Harry snapped, prying Draco's arms away. The blond only held on tighter.

"No you're not a whore. But you're dense and stupid." Harry bite his lips and looked away. "No, look at _me._" He looked back at Draco.

"Now, who did you owe the money to?" Draco asked, changing the subject.

"Tom Riddle." There was a pause after the name. Harry thought he saw Draco's face darkened for a moment.

"And how much is it again?" he finally asked.

"Five thousand."

Draco let out one final sigh. "Come with me."


	17. Chapter 17

His arms hung around Draco's neck as they arrived at the front of the mansion. Though he had tried to stand the best he could, his sore legs gave in as soon as they touched the floor. He let go of Draco as the blond struggled with the key and slumped down onto the ground, hugging himself, feeling too tired to even keep his eyes open.

He yawned as the door was pushed open.

"Harry," Draco's voice whispered. "Come on."

You could sleep outside, the sluggishness of his body told him. _I'm too tired to mov_e. He fought the sleep and stood up, following Draco inside.

"Now just be quiet," Draco whispered. "I'm trying to-"

"Drake!" a woman's voice shouted, snapping Harry to attention. The blond let out a low growl and spun around. The redhead woman from before stood in front of them, dressing in a nearly see-through black nightgown. The brunette stiffened at the sight of her and glanced at Draco, who didn't look back.

"Drake, I was so worried," the woman cooed in a sugar-coated voice. "You just_ left _like that. You just left me in the room alone!" She paused to let out a fake, dramatic sob before she caught sight of Harry. Her face scrunched up with disgust as she looked up and down at his filthy clothes and dirty hair. "Who is this... this..."

"Why are you still here?" Draco said coldly. "Shouldn't you be gone by now?"

The woman looked at him with surprise. "Why would I be? You said that you're booking me for the night. Of course I'm still here."

The blond reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet. He pulled a couple of hundred dollar bills and tossed them onto the floor. "I changed my mind. Now get your clothes and leave."

"What?!" Her voice didn't sound so sweet, instead reminding Harry very much of a morning crow.

"I said 'get out,'" Draco repeated.

"What?!" she yelled again.

The Malfoy sighed and folded his arms. "Am I speaking English?"

"Why-... yes you are but.. Did you just tell me to get out?" she asked with disbelief. "Did I do something wrong, Drake?"

"Get. Out. Please."

She gaped at him for a moment, before she got a hold of herself and closed her mouth. "Excuse me?"

"Get your things, and get out as soon as possible. I need to deal with important issues and I don't need you here to interrupt me."

She shook her head, continuing to blink in surprise, before giving him a scowl and stomping up the stairs.

"Actually, get out right now," Draco snarled.

"Draco, she's only wearing a nightgown. And she wouldn't have anywhere to go for the night," Harry whispered.

"You can sleep on the front porch. Take the blanket from the couch. I'll have the butler get your clothes ready in the morning."

"You can't be serious!" she shouted, flipping her hair, probably trying to sound snobbish, but only managed to sound childish instead. "I'm not sleeping on your front porch like a tramp!"

"Your options are either the front porch, or leaving entirely."

"I-" Her protest was cut off by one of Draco's glare. "I'll leave. I'm not sleeping on your front porch," she muttered loudly as she disappeared up the stairs.

A moment later, the woman came back down, dressed and with her things. A slam of the front door was heard.

"And my name's not Drake," Draco muttered.

* * *

"She was actually pretty nice about it," Harry mumbled as he limped into Draco's room. "I'd expected her to throw a tantrum or something."

Draco snorted and closed the door. "Yes, she's one of the nice ones. Plenty of other whores complain a whole lot more than her. But it must have been the money. I told her fifty dollars for one night and I gave her two hundred." He turned around to face Harry. "And what do you mean by you expected her to throw a tantrum?"

"I've been around a whore," the brunette answered as he settled into a nearby chair. "I lived with one."

"Ginevra Weasley?"

Harry looked up, surprised. "How do you know her name?"

"Please," Draco said with another snort. "Her wedding's been all over the radio stations and was on the front page of the city newspaper for two days running! 'Biggest wedding of the decade.'" He moved over to the bathroom and flicked the light switch. A golden light filled the room.

"I'd forgotten about that."

Draco started to fill the bathtub with water. "Was she your girlfriend?" he asked after a pause.

"... No, but I was looking into her before. It's really silly of me, now that I think about it. She was never like that when we were little. She used to be a nice girl."

"You saw how well that turned out, didn't you?"

There was silence for a while as the water filled the bathtub. Harry twitched in his seat nervously, feeling rather uncomfortable with the long pause. He wished that he had said something to continue the meaningless conversation. He opened his mouth as the silence dragged on, determined to say something. His mind went blank.

_I should shut-up._ He rubbed his right eye and yawned. The drowsiness invaded again. Unknown to his hearing, the water stopped. And the next thing he knew, Draco was standing above him, shaking his shoulder.

"Harry."

"Huh?" he gasped out, and jerked at the sudden touch that brought him back. Draco stopped the shaking. "Yes?"

"Take off your clothes."

What?!

Harry blinked at him with wide green eyes.

"You need a bath. Really bad," Draco answered. Harry blushed. "What did you think I meant, idiot?"

"I can bathe myself," Harry grumbled as he headed towards the bathroom, his face still red. A hand roughly grabbed him and spun him around. Harry stared into Draco's gray eyes and gulped. The blonde's hand quickly unbuttoned his shirt before he could react

"We'll talk more while I clean you up," he said, never looking away from Harry's face as his hands wandered lower and pulled his pants down. A little mischievous smirk formed on his face. "Now come on. You can take off the rest of your clothes in the bathroom. I don't like seeing underwear as the first thing when I go out."

Harry face was red as a tomato as he followed Draco into the bathroom. He turned away from Draco as he stripped the rest of his clothing off, wondering just why was he still nervous about getting naked in front of somebody who had already seen him naked before, and had touched him, too. He got into the tub as soon as he was done.

"Ow..." he winced as the hot water touched his wounds, cursing himself for getting in so quickly.

"You _are_ dense," Draco said dryly. Harry watched him as he picked up a white cloth and soaked it in the water. Squeezing it as dry as he could, he gently pressed it onto the cuts at Harry's neck.

"That hurts," Harry complained. Draco took it away and drenched it in water again before repeating what he had just done. Only this time, to the bruises on Harry's arms. The brunette bit his lips to keep down another wince.

"I know Tom Riddle," Draco said suddenly. Harry stiffened. "I don't _know_ know him, but I know some basic things that pretty much everybody in the business world should."

"What do you mean? Who is he?"

"He lends money to people. He started that line some years ago," was the answer.

"So he's like a human bank?"

Draco poured some water over the bruise. "Something like that. But he has a weird policy."

"What's his policy?"

"You don't pay him the money till he wants the money, that's what," Draco replied. "People who owe him money don't need to pay monthly like they do with banks. You have to pay when he wants you to, not when you want to."

"How do you know that? You owe him money?"

Draco barked a laugh. "No! Malfoys? Owe someone money? No, it's our smaller business partners. They've been dropping out in numbers recently. After some digging, we found that they have to sell because they owe him too much money and he's demanding it now."

Harry blinked and shook his head. "That's not legal is it? Can he really do that?"

"It doesn't matter to him. Lots of the government dogs owe him money and favors, so if someone really wants to challenge him on that issue, they're pretty much dead."

Harry let out a sigh as he thought about Tom Riddle for a moment. "My father owes him a lot; he'd been borrowing money from Tom even before I was born. But we could have paid off the debt already..."

"Except that Riddle doesn't want the money 'till now. Why would he want it if he doesn't need it? Ever since Black Tuesday, the country's in major financing troubles. He didn't need the money before because everything was going so well. So of course, he'd want his money back because he's afraid to lose it all if he's too late."

"You know a lot about him," Harry commented.

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You should, too. Anyone who has anything to do with him should."

"Tell me everything."

"That's what I'm doing right now," Draco said.

"Start from the beginning. Tell me as much as you know."

A look was shoot in his direction.

"Sorry..."

"He began making his name in the money-lending thing around 1912. He was in jail for sometime before that for something that nobody really knows. He first started negotiating with the southern plantation owners. I guess that people down the south recommended him to some factory owners up here in north.

"His gang started in 1913, one year after he'd started his money-lending."

"He had a gang?"

"He still does," Draco said. "At first, that gang of his was just really for show, nothing really big, until the country got into a debate about the Great War. He'd done away with a lot of murders during that time to people who disagreed with him on political issues about the war and such.

"He didn't actually do any of his dirty work; his henchmen did. Lawyers tried to connect murders with him. They couldn't find the evidence to.

"Things calmed down a little when it hit 1915. Then the stupid prohibition law had to pass and now, with bars being owned by criminals, gangs competing with each other for territories, and the Depression, he's starting to blackmail his debtors, like he had with your father." A sigh was heard.

"Does he really kill people if they don't turn in the money on time?"

"I don't know. I don't know him that well."

The letter flashed across Harry's mind. He thought about his father's words for a while. "My father knew him for a long time. He said that he knew what Tom's capable of. He said that Tom would kill him if he didn't turn the rest of the money in." He looked up at Draco's face. An eyebrow was raised by those words.

"Your father had some sort of relationship with him, then? Because your father's the first person that I've heard of who said he knew Tom well. Nobody knows him well, except for maybe some people in the inner circle of his gang. And they're pretty loyal followers. That's why private investigators are having such hard times digging up information about him," Draco said. "All we have is what's on his birth certificate, family trees, stuff that doesn't even matter. And the fact that he went to jail that one time."

Harry looked away, deep in thought about the information.

"There's one mysterious thing about him that investigators just can't dig up, no matter what," Draco continued.

"What's that?"

The blond paused, thinking about it with a frown. "Nobody knews where he got all that money from. I mean, he's never taken on a job- an official, important job in his life, not before nor after he got out of jail. And then the money just appeared like nothing. _From_ nothing."

"... From... From inheritance? From some rich uncle who died and left him a fortune?" Harry suggested. He had read many of those type of stories in dime novels and fairy tales, where a rich relative left the hero a bundle of money and a house, and the person lived happily ever after. Except of course, if that was what happened to Tom Riddle, he was abusing his riches.

"He had a rich father, Tom Riddle Senior, who died when he was fifteen years old. Riddle Senior refused to acknowledge him as his son," Draco answered.

"Why not?"

"Junior's mother was merely a prostitute. They didn't even marry. Do you think that Riddle senior would want to taint his family's name by marrying a whore, even one that was in love with him?"

"But that's so-"

"She was already sick by the time she met up with Riddle. The poor woman died on Christmas Eve a few days after giving birth to him in an orphanage." The blond winced. "Typhus."

"What's that?"

"Lice."

"Oh... So he had his father's money then?"

Draco shook his head. "The Riddle Estate and fortune never went to him. It was inherited by a cousin in England."

"Then he robbed a bank?"

"The press would have known and he'd be in jail still," he answered with a snort. "The only place he could rob and not be noticed money-wise is the government's money vault. And that place is draped with security." Draco chuckled. "The investigators should be able to dig that up too, but Riddle was never near the vault, not even close."

"Somebody gave the money to him?"

Draco gave him a look and poured some water over his head, making him jerk, startled. "Would you give someone ten million dollars for no reason?"

The brunette flushed and glared at him. "I don't know," he said grumpily, wiping the water off his face. "Would you?"

They stared at each other for a moment. Butterflies zoomed around in Harry's stomach as Draco gazed at him, amused. He fought the urge to lower his head, and instead kept his face straight with that angry look.

A pair of lip suddenly captured his own, washing away that mild anger. He sighed as that mouth made it's way down his chin, gently licking the wounds on his neck. It hurt, but it pleasured him as much as it pained him. One of Draco's hands disappeared under the water. Something suddenly gave his hardened member a stroke. He gasped and tilted his head as Draco's hand wandered around his lower region, touching, stroking.

"Yes, if I had ten million to spare, you could have it all."

* * *

He could feel someone staring at him, even without his eyes open. The bandage on his face felt weird. His arms and legs felt more sore than ever as he stirred.

_Quit staring, whoever you are!_ he thought as he let out a groan. A pair of soft lips brushed against his cheek and he sighed, savoring the moment. He tried to move more, but something was preventing him from doing so. Cursing under his breath, he felt for the "rope."

"Open your eyes," a voice whispered.

"... Draco."

"Get up."

He shivered and opened his eyes to look at the naked chest of the blond. A blush made it's way up to his face as Draco's hands moved up and down his back. Draco gazed down at him with a tired expression.

"You're awake," Harry said, feeling stupid for stating the obvious.

"And so are you."

"What time is it?" the brunette asked, yawning.

"Six in the morning," came the answer. "You're quite an early riser aren't you? So of course, I have to get up before you do."

"You don't have to," he grumbled as he watched Draco slipping out of the bed. Naked. He suddenly found it hard to swallow. It was then he realized that he was naked, too. He dropped his head back onto the soft pillows as Draco threw on a bathrobe.

"I slept in last time and look what you'd did," Draco said with a snort. "But lets not get into how mad you made me."

"I'm flattered," Harry said, trying to sound sarcastic. The redness of his face gave him away completely. Draco softly chuckled as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead.

"I'll be back soon." A moment later, the door was shut quietly.

Harry buried his face into the pillows, smiling happily as a giddy feeling circled around and around within him. He didn't care if he thought that he was acting like a little girl. The thought that Draco wanted him just created a warm fuzzy feeling.

The door opened. Harry turned his head around. A tray was settled onto the desk near him, and the smell of fried bacon reached his nose. It was then he remembered that he hadn't ate in three days. His stomach let out a loud, embarrassing rumble, which was followed by a laugh from the blond.

* * *

15 Henry st.

The sight of the building bought him back to reality as he watched Draco go into it. It was what they had planned; Draco goes in first, he follows. Just so that Riddle would not have the suspicion that Draco was his friend.

He could see the way that Draco's face twisted with disdain as he stepped into number 15. Inside number fifteen was a woman, standing behind a counter with a wide, bright smile that Harry quickly intercepted as a fake. To be convincing, he walked past the building, looking around as if he was lost.

He could hear Draco laughing with equal falseness as he greeted the woman. Five minutes later, he went in.

"Um, hi," he said to the woman behind the counter. Close up, he could see that she was missing one of her top front teeth. The other one was yellow. In fact, every tooth that she had left was either yellow or brown. She gave him a look as his nose wrinkled up in disgust.

"Name?" she said, her fake smile gone as she checked him up and down, taking in the bruises and bandages.

"Um, I'm here to see Riddle," he answered.

"Hmp," the woman huffed. "You don't look like you have any money on you."

"I'm here to see Riddle," he repeated. True, he did not have any money on him; Draco did. Or at least, Draco said he did.

"Wait here," she snapped as she walked around the counter and opened a door that was labeled 'Storage Room'. "Riddle's in there."

Harry didn't even bother with a thank you as he headed for the open door, wanting to give that woman the kick that she deserved. She sneered at him as he stepped inside the room. He scowled back as the door closed in his face.

A loud roar of applause and laughter reached his ears as he turned around. He stiffened immediately, his heart sped up with panic. Was this some sort of special welcome from Riddle? He looked up and sighed with relief. They weren't laughing at him.

People slammed their glass cups onto the tables. Men and women hooted and whistled like what Harry could only describe as delirious lunatics. He gulped, feeling rather taken aback by the crazy crowd.

At the front of the room was a cage.

A pig was on a lease, squealing with pain as a whip flicked out, striking it's pink flesh. The pig jumped up and ran around the cage, it's cries pierced Harry's ears. The crowd hooted and laughed as if the animal had just finished an exotic dance move. In a way, in their own crazed minds, Harry guessed that this was what they had saw it as.

He tried to block out the sound as he looked away from the pig, eyes scanning the room, trying to locate Draco. The Malfoy was sitting at the back of the room, looking down at his mug, not even touching it. He raised his head and met Harry's eyes for a moment, before turning away.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Well," a voice suddenly said loudly. "Look who we got here! Mr. Potter's here to join us!"

The crowd - who, just a second ago, had been cheering - fell silent at the announcement of Harry's presence. Smiles faded from people's faces and a man at the center of the crowd stood up.

His skin held a sickly yellow glow from the dim light and his clothes hung around him loosely. His eyes were somewhat narrow and his nose was almost non-existent.

"Tom Riddle?" Harry asked in a small voice.

"Please to meet you, Mr. Potter," the man breathed out, his face in a grim smirk. Approaching Harry, the boy could see that his skin was very pale- the yellow was a trick of the light. "We've all been waiting for you."

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he replied as coldly as he could, wishing that he could run to Draco and let him handle it. Riddle placed a hand onto his shoulder and led him through the silent crowd. Harry lifted his head up, knees trembling with fear at the touch.

People backed away. "It's Potter," someone whispered in... fear? He looked at the man, who immediately scrambled out of his sight.

_They're... scared? Of me? It must be Riddle, it can't be me,_ he thought with a frown. Looking around, he could see their faces; some white, some scrunched up with confusion. A group of muscular young man to his left, however, looked at him with pure loathing. He took a deep breath and jerked out of Riddle's grasp, heading for one of the muscular-looking men. The anger on their faces faltered as they watched him with wide eyes, face paled as the sheets that had covered Percy.

Confused by such expression, Harry backed off right away.

_What's going on?_


	18. Chapter 18

"James. It's James," the mutters started again.

"I haven't seen him in sixteen years!"

"What's he doing here? I thought he was dead!"

"You still listen to things like that about him?"

Whispers rose from all corners of the room as Riddle led him to the center table. Everyone turned to stare at him, but quickly turned away when he stared back. The group of men that he was heading towards before had moved a table back. One quickly handed him a chair before leaving, to which Harry answered with a 'thank you'. For some reason, the man only blinked and nodded before running off. Riddle chuckled.

"Now, no need to panic," he said to the people with a smirk as he arrived back at his table. Harry stood beside him, watching them with a frown."May I introduce to you Mr. Harry Potter, our dear James' lovely son."

Another wave of silence washed over the crowd. A gasp or two was heard before murmurs invaded again.

"He looks just like him!"

"Thought that he was a tad small. And green eyes, thought so... Wonder who's the poor girl?" said one elder man. Someone hit him on the head and told him to shut-up before giving Harry a quick look of apology, born from fear.

_They knew my father? _Harry thought, puzzled. They couldn't, they _can't_. His father would never associate with people as lowly as them. Never. James was a well-raised, honest man with manners. A father and a husband of a family's dream. Up until a year ago, at least.

But they sounded as if they were James' fri-

No, not friends. Comrades? A group of misfortunate people that his father just happen to have the bad luck to meet while traveling? Harry shook his head a little- he couldn't find a right word for them, but definitely not friends or comrades. Those people were backstreet criminals.

"Sit down," Riddle commanded as he gestured to the seat that the man had handed to Harry. Trembling, he sat down across from Riddle, who smiled a small smile that one would almost mistake for friendly, had Harry not looked into his eyes.

Brown eyes, filled with red tints of anger and hatred, and something else that Harry just couldn't intercept. He looked away from the eyes and instead focused on Riddle's hands, which were folded in front of him in a business-like manner.

People were still staring.

"Go on with your fun," Riddle ordered, "me and Mr. Potter just have some things that we have yet clear up." One by one, they turned away from Harry and Riddle. Mutters and so forth were still heard as the whipper at the front of the room flicked his whip again at the pig, who squealed it's loudest. This did not bring the enthusiasm that it had before out of the crowd.

Harry's jaw clenched at this barbaric performance as a couple of people cheered. He turned back to Riddle, determined to block out the screams of the animal in the cage and focus on what was truly important at that moment.

"I know that my father still owes you five thousand, or I do now," he started in a low whisper. Riddle's smile widened, indicating that he was hearing Harry fine at his voice level. "I'll give it to you after I've seen my friends."

"Your friends are not here," Riddle answered in a straightforward tone after a moment, before taking a sip of his drink. Harry blinked and stared at him before his face transformed into a dark scowl.

"I'm not letting you have anything until I've seen them," the boy said stubbornly.

Riddle only chuckled as he set his glass down, his head turned away from him for a moment to see the whipping of the pig, which was capturing the attention of the crowd again. "I can swear on my honor that all of your friends are well-fed and well-attended. Yes, even the black one."

"Honor?" Harry scoffed. "What honor?"

"Honor of a thief."

"Thieves have no honor. That's what made them thieves in the first place," he snapped, glaring at Riddle.

"Oh you should know, Mr. Potter," he said calmly. "Those scars, they are no remains of a friendly battle, are they? Ah, and that black eye. I can see only one reason why you are in such a condition."

"What condition I'm in is none of your business. I've got the money and I want my friends," Harry said loudly.

"You have five thousand on you?" Riddle asked with a raise of his left eyebrow as he took out a pack of cigarettes out from his pocket. He quickly lit a match and took a puff. Gray smoke streamed out of his mouth and nostrils. "You don't _look_ like you have five thousand on you."

"Look Riddle, I've got the money, and it doesn't matter where or how I've hidden it. All that matters is that I've got it and you have to keep up your end of the bargain. You promised me my friends," Harry said, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

"And I did. You will have your friends."

"Alive."

"They are alive."

He took a deep breath. "Where are they, then?"

"Somewhere safe."

He gripped the side of the table harder as a wave of frustration washed over him. This was getting no where. From the looks of it, Riddle was obviously not giving him his his friends back. He felt stupid; James had told him that Riddle would do anything to obtain money from debtors. But criminals were no honest men.

"Don't play games with me," he snapped, not knowing what else to say.

"I'll tell you where they are after I've seen the money."

"Why should I trust you, murderer? For all I know, they could all be dead."

Riddle chuckled again. "Honor of a thief, young Potter."

"I don't have time for this, Mr. Riddle," Harry tried again. "I have the money and you have my friends. Let's get this over with and give them to me."

"You're not a patient person, are you, Mr. Potter? I thought that you would be, considering that your father was a very patient man," Riddle said, his voice suddenly growing cold at the mention of James.

The boy stiffened. "Don't talk about him."

"James was a very patient and well-mannered boy, ever since the day I met him, except on some unfortunate incidents," Riddle said with a smile.

Instinctively, Harry stood up and glared at him with pure anger. For some reason, the random imply of his father's name from Riddle just made him tingle with anger. "I want to see my friends."

"Calm down." This was spoken as a command.

People in the room looked over at them again as Harry and Riddle faced each other. Looking over Riddle's shoulder, Harry could see that Draco, too, was staring like the rest of them. The Malfoy's head gave a little shake, as if asking him what he was doing, drawing so much attention.

Harry ignored it as his eyes averted back to Riddle. He thought about the debt, and his blood boiled. He thought about his father, who left him with this debt, and a rage arised within him like an unexpected hurricane. He thought about Riddle's stupid policy, and then what possible relationships that his father might had with these bunch of lunatics.

It was all James' fault.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter," Riddle snarled.

"No."

The crowd had gone completely silent at Harry's refusal to Riddle's command.

"You father wasn't really obedient either. Expected from his son." The elder man sneered. Harry's eyes narrowed. "Lupin, Greyback, tie the boy down."

Two men suddenly stood up. Harry turned around and glared at them, anger fueled his grim expression. They paled instantly, as if reminded of something, before turning to Riddle, who stood and gave them such a dangerous look that, in comparison, Harry's glare was a happy smile.

Yet, they still did not obey their leader, looking back at Harry, who held on to his glare. They finally sat down, lips thinned and faces even paler than before.

They weren't the only ones intimidated. From what Harry could see, half of the people in the room were as pale as Lupin and Greyback. All of them looked away as soon as Harry's traveling eyes rested on them, trying to figure out what was wrong. The way that they all turned away made him angry as well.

"I see that James' spell over all of you did not fade," Riddle said coldly to his people.

"Spell?" Harry barked a laugh. "All of you are insane! Lunatics! What is this thing going 'round about my father?"

"Your father..." The word 'father' was a snarl. It reminded Harry of an angry tiger. Harry turned back to Riddle.

"My father had nothing to do with any of you, except that you were his money loaner. My father would never associate with people like you. Freaks, criminals, nuts who've lost their minds!" Harry shouted as he thought of the whimpering pig. He regretted his word a moment later. These were people who could slice him up into mince meat!

But nobody came at him.

"You hardly know your own father, young Potter," Riddle said, icier than ever. "'Freaks? Criminals? Nuts who've lost their minds?' Yes, you could call us that."

There was a pause.

"Well, that's what you are," Harry said.

"You've been listening to stories about me, haven't you, Potter?"

The boy stood up straighter. "You're very well-known."

"A very well-known criminal, am I right? A freak of nature and an insane man who's lost his mind to money. Yes, I know all about those stories that are floating around about me," Tom said darkly. "But guess what? James was all three of those things, more than any of us can ever be."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Harry snarled, surprised at himself at the use of such language.

"You don't know a thing about him!" Riddle shouted. "You don't have a clue about what he's done! Just what gives you the right to call us all, call _me_ that, when your father was the biggest- what was that word you used? Lunatic?- out of everybody in this room?!"

Harry shook his head with rage and disbelief. Who was this mad man kidding? His father was no lunatic. No, not James. "That's a pretty funny lie," he said with a laugh.

Riddle's eyes narrowed at the sound. "How can you call that a lie? You don't know anything!"

"Tom, please, spare the boy of it," a woman whispered loudly to their left. "He doesn't need to know."

"Know what?" Harry demanded. "And why're you all staring at me like I'm some kind of monster!?"

"You really want to know, Potter?" snapped Riddle, ignoring the woman. "I'll tell you."

"What are you talking about?!"

"You want to know you father's true personality? That perfect breadwinner of the family? You want to know just how much of a _lunatic_ he was?" He leaned closer to Harry. "Your father, James Potter, was _MY VERY OWN RIGHT HAND MAN!_"

The silence that settled after those words made Harry's stomach quiver as he took a step back. A flash of denial went through his mind first, because James couldn't be such a person. But something told him that what Riddle said was true.

The crowd around him weren't faking fear.

"That's not true," he said quietly, still going with the denial.

He had not expected Riddle to laugh. "Still call us crazy? Tell him, Greyback." Greyback flinched and looked away, his hands- no, _hand _trembling. Harry narrowed his eyes. "Tell him how you lost your left arm."

_Left... arm? What bullshit was this man pulling? My father would never do such thing._ He made a grab at his chair and sat down slowly, watching Greyback, almost challenging the man to say that his missing arm had something to do with Harry's father. _Tell me that it isn't true_.

Greyback didn't look at him.

"A left arm was only the beginning, young Potter. An arm was to your father like a small appetizer was to a fat Duke. Greyback knows, don't you, Greyback?" Riddle sneered at him.

Greyback hesitated, and then said, "I lost my arm while working in a meat factory when I was little." If this was a completely different situation, Harry would have believed him. But just by the tone of Greyback's voice, he could tell that the man was lying through his teeth. No meat factory.

"He laughed when he was done. James laughed and apologized before helping him up. Greyback was sentenced to stayed in bed for three months before he could walk again, a whole year before he fully recovered,"Riddle went on, ignoring Greyback's interruption. "Strange don't you think? I wonder if that counts as an act of lunacy...

"Compared to what he's done to other people, I would have to say that he was soft on our boy Greyback; he's still alive and well, isn't he?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, not able to find a word to say. All he could do was think to himself that what Riddle said was a complete lie, not that it did much help.

"Got a word?"

"I still think you're lying." No, he no longer thought that he was lying. But as real as it seemed to him, a small voice still whispered in the back of his mind that his father was no such person.

Riddle too, sat down in his chair and gave everybody a look before returning to Harry. "I met James when he was fourteen," he began, his eyes holding a strange glint at the memory. "On a cold December night in 1909. I was two months out of jail then, wandering everywhere, trying to find a new place to start my life when your father decided that he was sly enough to outsmart me and tried to steal my briefcase. He was as thin as a stick and as easy to break as a toothpick. I could have killed him right then and there. But no, there was just something about that boy that caught my interest. And I took him in.

"That was the wisest thing I have ever done. Your father was a true monster."

Harry's fists tightened, knuckles turning white.

"He did everything that I told him to and he obeyed nobody else, like a machine."

"Shut-up."

Riddle only replied with a smile as he went on. "I say the word and he does everything from the letter K to the last of the two Ls. Of course, he would extend the IL for his own amusement if he had the time. His first victims were a set of twins, a little boy and a little girl."

"I said_ shut up_!"

"You want to know how he killed them?" Riddle continued. "He first heated up coals, and then he slid them all over their little bodies. He then sliced opened their wrists and drained their blood into a bowl, like women on farms would do to chicken's necks." Riddle's jaws suddenly clenched hard as he spoke, almost disgusted by the thought. "He made them drink their own blood, saying that he-"

"You're a liar!"

Everything went still as those words made their way out of Harry's mouth in a scream. "He's lying right?! Tell me that he's lying!"

Nobody told him anything, but Harry could see the answer from their eyes. Riddle was not lying.

"My father would never kill little kids!" he tried to deny again.

"Those poor twins were only a test, but it was his favorite kill, he told me again and again. He even recorded their screams; He listened to it every night before he went to sleep, like they were lullabies. All those murders in the past, before the start of the World War, I did nothing. He did all the torture, all the killing.

"He didn't even go to court for it. Nobody ever suspected him with his honest-guy smiles and the way that he always seemed so kind and innocent. He destroyed evidence efficiently, and all the credit went to me."

"That's not true at all."

"We kill for money, power, love," said Riddle. "Your father killed simply because he liked it. He liked the feel of blood running through his fingers. He liked hearing people scream. He kills for me, asking for nothing except the pleasure he gets when he tortures someone."

Harry scoffed. "You're wasting time with those made-up stories," he said bitterly, voice trembling and his mind spinning at such tales.

"That is the complete history."

"A complete history of _lies_! I know my own father!"

Riddle snorted sarcastically. "Do you? Do you really think that an assistant of a secretary makes that much? Do you honestly think that your father became the richest man in your town by doing that job? I found that job for him, and I'm the only reason why you're here and alive today!"

"Oh?" Harry taunted. "Now you're my savior?"

"Your mother worked as a maid in a bar before she met James. We were traveling then, trying to find a new hideout in Ohio when we stopped in at her place for a break."

The boy's eyes lit up with suspicion. "You know a lot about my parents, Riddle."

"I do, young Potter."

"All lies," he snarled.

Riddle ignored that as he glared. He took a deep gulp of his drink before continuing on. "She stole him for the first night, dancing around him like a drunk fox in heat. James always had a soft spot for pretty women, and he followed her like a rat to the pied piper.

"I hardly noticed that he was spending his time with her at first, and then the week ended and I decided that it was time to leave." The man suddenly smiled a cold smile that wrenched Harry's stomach, leaving him with a feeling of dread.

"He came up to me, face to face, and told me that he's _quitting_!" Riddle then laughed like it was the funniest thing that he had ever heard.

"So he changed."

"He said, 'Lily's told me that she loves me.' Can you believe it, young Potter?"

"I can believe it just fine," Harry answered glacially. "Because my father was not the person you made him out to be."

"He also said, "I love Lily back', 'Lily wants a family', 'Lily thinks I'm twenty-five.' He was _nineteen_, Potter, _nineteen_! He even looked like a nineteen year old! Now why would she believed him? Everybody could see that she was older than him; she was twenty-three!

"And get this part - 'Lily thinks I'm rich.' She thinks he's _rich_. No wonder. But he was not rich, Potter, I was rich. So for his years of service to me, I lent him a sum of twenty thousand dollars to start off. And every time he ran out, he came to me again."

Harry took a deep breath and licked his dry lips. "So he changed then, for the better."

"Really? If he changed, then I've certainly not noticed," Riddle said. "Unlike your father, young Potter, I find you a very foolish and naive little boy. Did you really think that your mother ran away with her high school boyfriend? Has it ever occurred you, after all I told you, that something else might have happened to her?"

"She ran away," Harry breathed, confirming what he had before thought of as a fact.

An amusing smirk wore Riddle's face. "Severus Snape was drafted into the army during the Great War and was sent to Germany for battle. He died in 1916," Riddle announced. "But of course, nobody really remembered him. From what James and I heard, he was a grumpy fellow with no other friends than your mother, who left him after a fight they had.

"Your mother returned home after a month in the hospital. Her body was burned. Her ashes were mixed with water and he poured it down the drain, my boy. I watched him that day, Potter. Sixteen years and nothing had changed about him. He's still the blood-hungry monster that he had been."

Harry fought the urge to throw up.

"Do you believe me now?"

"No, just give me my friends back. That's what I'm here for. Give them back to me and I'll hand the money over to you."

He hesitated, frowning in anger as his eyes lingered on Harry's face. "Let me see the money first. I want it in either trinkets or cash, as I cannot just go into a bank and cash it myself," Riddle said after a while.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and at Draco, who gave him a look of shock and disbelief. He had heard it all.

"You told me that you've got the money, where is it?"

Harry frowned, wondering why Draco wasn't making any moves. Draco did have the money, didn't he? "I... I want to see my friends first."

"You'll have your friends soon," Riddle snapped. "Where is the money? I'm not a patient man when it comes to money, Potter, and definitely not when it comes to five grand!"

"My friends first," Harry answered stubbornly before giving Draco a look. The blond merely shook his head and mouthed something that Harry didn't quite catch. _He's not deciding to leave me, is he? _Draco won't do that, at least, Harry hoped he wouldn't. _From the sounds of my father..._

"Search his pockets!" Riddle suddenly snapped. "Lupin! Greyback!"

"What? No! Wait!" Harry looked up, startled as the two muscular men circled him.

A shot suddenly rang out the room, stopping everyone in their tracks. Draco Malfoy jumped up from his chair, a gun out as he quickly made his way towards Harry. Immediately, Lupin and Greyback reached into their pockets, pulling out their own guns.

"No! Stop," Riddle commanded, holding up a hand, indicating to them to put their guns away. Greyback and Lupin obeyed. "You must be Draco Malfoy," he said after a moment. Draco, who was holding onto Harry's shoulder, stiffened at the mention of his name.

"You guessed it, Tom Riddle," he replied.

"Well, Mr. Potter. I'm certainly impressed with you for the first time. Such a friend with so high a position in society," the older man said with a hiss, looking at Draco with an expressionless face. "I know a lot about you too. You _and_ your family, Mr. Malfoy."

"You do? I wonder how," Draco answered in a cool voice as Harry stood up beside him.

"Yes." Riddle's lips curved up into another smirk. "I met your father at your parent's wedding. We did not like each other much."

"I'm sad to hear that," Draco said. "Now, about the five thousand. I'm here to help Harry at making a new deadline. Obviously, I could not get it for him yet."

"What?!" Harry yelped.

"Of course," Riddle replied. "I'll be _glad_ to give you more time. Your father and I would have been such good friends, if only there wasn't that incident that tore my chance at it. Tell him I say hello."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"How does three more days sound?"

"That sounds just fine," Draco reply.

"Good, I'll see you two in three days," Riddle said. "Lupin, escort Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy out of here."

Harry looked at Draco with shock as Lupin gestured at them to follow him. They both gave Riddle one more glare before following.

"What...?" Harry wondered. That part had gone by so fast. What had happened. And what was that part about Draco's father?

People stared at them as they went through the crowd. Lupin finally led them to the back door of the room, which opened up into an alleyway.

_I have quite a history with alleyways,_ Harry thought grimly as they stepped out of the bar. Something clicked in his mind and he froze.

"Wait!" he shouted, right foot still in the room. He turned around, capturing the attention of the crowd once more.

"I want that pig." He pointed at the whimpering animal in the cage.

"It's not for sale," the whipper answered.

"It's our dinner! You can't have it!" somebody said.

Harry looked at Riddle, who stared back for a moment. "Avery," he then called out to the whipper. "Give him that pig."

"But sir, it's our dinner!"

"Give him the pig," Riddle commanded. Avery's lips pressed together before taking something out from his pocket - the key. He unlocked the door just as Harry approached the cage. He reached in, and lifted the pig up before taking it out. The animal struggled in his arms as he walked towards the opened back entrance again, where Draco and Lupin was waiting for him.

"Harry, you know that you just had bacon this morning," Draco reminded him as the door was closed.

"Yes, I know," Harry answered, a glacial edge to his tone. Draco took no notice of it.

"So, you're going to eat a pig, and then rescue another one. What's the point of that? And where will we put it? You know that I won't let that thing into my manor, everybody will smell the stink!" the blond protested.

"They won't after I give it a good bath," Harry said, glancing down at the whimpering animal and stroking it's head.

"That thing is not-"

"I thought you had the money," the brunette interrupted, giving him a glare. "You _told_ me that you had the money."

Draco shrugged. "Does it matter? I made a new deadline for you."

"Why would you say that you do if you don't!?" Harry hissed.

"Harry, you came to me in the middle of the night. Now tell me, how many banks do you think are open then? I would have got it this morning, but, really, my parents are going to notice the change. They keep sharp eyes on my bank accounts!"

Harry looked at him with disbelief and confusion.

"What? You think that they'd leave me fully alone?" Draco said heatedly. "Socially, yes. But financially? I'll have another twenty years of dreaming to do before that happens."

Harry looked at him for a moment before turning away. Neither of them spoke the rest of the way. Finally, Lupin stopped at a black gate. He opened it and glanced around before motioning to them to step out.

"This is Seventh Avenue," he said as Harry and Draco followed him out.

"Thank you," Harry mumbled. The blond only scoffed.

"If you know what's good for you, Mr. Potter, then you'd keep away as soon as the debt with Tom is settled. He's still a pretty crazy man by himself," Lupin suddenly advised after a moment of silence.

"It's true, then?" the boy asked. "What he said about my father?"

"Your father was a... very unusual person when it came to personalities and beliefs. Most people don't like his ideas," Lupin answered. Under the dimming light from the sun, Harry spotted a dark bruise ring around his neck. He had thought it was a collar. Harry frowned as he stared at Lupin's neck, who immediately noticed this and lowered his head.

"Did my father did that too?" Harry asked.

"Your father did a lot of things," was what he received, as Lupin stepped back into the alleyway.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologized.

Lupin's gaze softened. "He was a nice person, sometimes. He always made me laugh with his childish jokes. It's unfortunate that he was the way he was, with two crazy personalities." There was a hesitation. "Riddle had the strangest relationship with him. Something that none of us could find a word for." And with that, he closed the gate. Harry could still hear his footsteps after a minute.

"Come on," Draco finally said. "Let's get home."

"But what about the pig?" Harry protested

"Just leave it here!" Draco snapped.

"But he'd be pork by the end of the day!"

The blond let out a loud sigh. "He'd be pork if anyone saw him in the manor, and I'd be in trouble!"

"Please! It's barely passing baby stage!"

"That's a _baby_ pig?"

Harry looked down at the pig. "A little over that," he muttered.

"Forget it," Draco replied flatly.

"I'll even let you name it," the brunette quickly offered.

Draco looked down at the animal that was shivering in Harry's arms. "Fine. That thing will be Porkchop."

"Oh okay, that's... Draco!?"

* * *

Pansy Parkinson poured him the green tea as he leaned back on the soft cushion, looking around at the flat, impressed. The walls were cream-colored, giving the whole room a rather French look with it's matching cream-colored furniture under the room's fancy, golden chandelier.

"Great flat," Draco complimented.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Pansy answered smugly as she sat down on the cushion across from him. "Luna cried when I gave her the keys, though."

Draco waved that aside as he took a sip of his drink. "So, I'm just here to ask you some questions."

"Go on, don't waste my precious time," she sneered as she took out a cigarette and lit it with a match.

"You've heard of Tom Riddle, haven't you?" Draco asked.

Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I've never heard of him," she said with great sarcasm. "No, Draco, you're just wasting my time- Of course I have! What kind of stupid question is that?"

"I'm just asking," Draco snapped. "Anyway, you know about his gangs and what a big threat that they've been to our government all these years, don't you? And to us, right now, with Riddle demanding debt money from our business partners."

"Yes, why?"

"Well, I was thinking, do you know anybody who would love to gut Riddle, not afraid of getting in trouble for it, _and_ actually have the power to do it?"

Pansy took a sip of her teeth and looked at Draco with great suspicion. "Why do you want kill that old coot all of a sudden? Has he done anything to you? Because, from what I've heard, the Malfoys are doing pretty well on holding their business up. And I'm pretty sure that you don't owe him any money."

"It's actually a... friend," Draco said.

Pansy's gaze immediately lost its suspicion in favor of an amusing twinkle. "Oh, okay. That explains it." Draco glared at her. "Well, try Blaise. He'd love to give Riddle a good punch."

"Blaise _Zabini_?" the man asked with disbelief. Blaise Zabini was six years older than them, and, at the age of sixteen, had still been in grade school. He had been the school county's number one troublemaker, running around with his little group that he had gathered by then, destroying properties and stealing.

"Yes, he rules the west coast now. Nevada, California, Utah, Washington, and so on. I met up with him three months ago. He's still a cheapskate; he served me one of those cheap, homemade brandies and made me paid fifty dollars for it. Can you believe him? Fifty fucking dollars!"

Draco barked a laugh and shook his head. "Yes, I remember once when I tried to borrow his pencil for a test. That bastard told me that he'd rent it to me for a dollar. I had to sit through the entire test without a pencil."

"So, anyway, he's got quite an army going on. And he's always talking about moving more east into Pennsylvania and Ohio," she continued. "If you want someone to gut Tom Riddle for you, than you should consider hiring him. They might kill each other and save us all the trouble!" she said brightly.

"How much?"

"He wouldn't do it for less than a million," Pansy said.

There was a pause of stunned silence. "I mean, just his best men."

"A million," she said again.

Draco's face wrinkled up with a scowl. "That's too much!"

"He _is_ greedy," she pointed out, taking a gulp of her tea. "Unless you want to hire an assassin? Which will probably just cost you a quarter of a million because of who Riddle is."

"No," Draco said. "I'm not wasting it on one man to do the job. I want firepower. But I don't have a million available. I could take it out of my bonds and savings account, but... How can you contact Zabini?"

"You're really going to do it?"

"It's worth it, and my old man will be kissing my butt once I've done it," Draco said, reassuring himself. Lucius had been pissed off by the number of partners that dropped out; Draco couldn't get through one dinner without hearing him complaining, which turned into yelling once anyone decided to answer back.

"I have several of his phone numbers, and a couple of his hideouts. I'll get it to you later," Pansy said. "Pretty special friend. Who is she?"

Draco only rolled his eyes and leaned back. He didn't want to tell her about Harry, at least, not yet. "That friend is special. By the way, what's with that little bulge you have? Cheating on Luna with a man?"

That got Pansy's attention. Her eyes lit up, as if she had just remembered something she forgot to tell Draco. She pat her stomach affectionately and smirked with delight. "I'm pregnant."

"So you _did_ cheat on that poor girl with a man."

"She knows about it, and it's not like I'll be seeing that man any time soon. The guy's out of the country and doesn't even know that I'm having his kid," Pansy answered. "It was just a one night thing."

"So you're bisexual? I thought you said that you don't like men."

"I don't," she replied. "I got pregnant to shut my parents up. See, I just happened to take Luna for a date in one of the dinner parties that my dad was invited to, and apparently, he thinks that I'm doing it to embarrass him. That son of a bitch threatened to disown me if he sees Luna again. And there's always the rambling from mother about why male lovers are better for females than another female."

"Oh," Draco said. "I got it. Who's the father?"

"An ambassador from Germany, here to discuss with our government about the yearly debt that they have to pay because of the war; Germany can't pay the full amount this year and he wanted a lower rate," she said, and then smirked. "I'm not suppose to know about it; Private business. But he was prett drunk by nine and blabbed all that stuff out. He's pretty good-looking, for a man, so I don't have to worry about my baby looking ugly." She patted her stomach again.

Draco looked at her bulging abdomen, a wave of concern and jealousy running through him. Neither Harry nor he could get pregnant because they were both males, and it would be a real trouble if he just fucked a random whore; she might hold her child hostage and demand money from him. And Lucius was bound to disown him once he knew Draco's new sexual preference. At least Pansy could produce an heir.

He laughed, trying to brush the thought aside. "Where's that guy now?"

"In Germany." She then grinned. "He drove drunk one fine morning and ran over three nuns while they were crossing the street. They had to send him back."

Draco snorted and glanced once more around the flat. "You bought this for your girl, huh?"

"My girl's in our bedroom, sleeping. She practically ignored me for a whole month when she heard about my pregnancy, saying that I didn't want her anymore." There was a sudden dreamy look on Pansy's beautiful face. "And then I showed her this flat when I bought her home after I found her on the street. She cried."

"They're adorable, aren't they?" Draco asked, thinking about the way Harry had cried in that alley way, shivering and hiccuping.

"Your friend is Luna's age?"

"My friend is Luna's age."

Pansy thought about it for a moment. "Yes," she finally said. "Adorable. Who's your friend?"

"No one you know," Draco retorted.

* * *

Harry was in the bathroom when he arrived back in his- _their_ room. Draco inwardly beamed at the thought that Harry would be with him from then on. Though of course, he would need to find them some place to settle them down; someone would be bound discover Harry soon.

"Draco?" a soft voice whispered, snapping him out of his daydream.

"Yes?"

"Porkchop's clean!" the brunette said proudly.

Draco gave a little smile at the childish expression on his face and went up, pulling Harry into a hug.

"You know, I was thinking..." he started, but then trailed off. He shouldn't tell Harry; he didn't have the money to buy Harry a flat with the five thousand debt and the one million for Zabini. And besides, he wanted to keep it as a surprise. And if he did tell Harry, he might not be able to buy it. Harry would be disappointed.

"What?"

"Nothing," he finally said, leaning down a little and trailing his lips up Harry's neck. The boy's breath hitched as Draco nibbled his ear. The blond moved over – his intention was to capture that beautiful pair of pouting, pink lips, when a loud squeal of delight from the bathroom interrupted them.

"I'll be right back," Harry said, and pulled away from him.

Somewhere in Draco's mind, debates went on about the flat. But all he could think of as Harry disappeared into the bathroom was, _d__amn the pig._


	19. Chapter 19

If you were to be locked in a room with Blaise Zabini, the first thing you would notice about him was that he was a rather handsome, Italian man. After five minutes of talking to him, you would learn that he was probably the most greedy, money-loving bastard that you could ever meet.

In fact, that was exactly what the girl who was beside him learned. And to Blaise's surprise, the girl didn't run away.

Well, he shouldn't really be that surprised. Sometimes they stayed, but most of the time, they would be gone after the first fuck. Most of the time, the ones who ran away were either really scared of him, or just whores who said that he wasn't paying enough.

This one wasn't scared of him, at the very least- she was practically yelling "I love you" to him every five minutes- _and this whore doesn't even need a penny._

"When are you going to be back?" Ginerva Pettigrew ask him, her lips pouted out, trying to look cute. The expression only gave Blaise the urge to smack her in the face. He looked up and down her naked body and decided against it. She was a good fuck- she was _free_. And sometimes, the roles would even switch and _she_ would be the one that was giving _him _money.

He can fuck her, and have her money. Yes, she was one bargain that he didn't want to lose.

"Blaise baby?" she purred, making him reconsider not smacking her.

"Yes," he growled.

"When are you going to be back?" she asked, gazing up at him adoringly through her thick eyelashes. "I'm going to miss you. Aren't you going to miss me?"

She had the nerve to claim that she loved him. The thought of ever loving her back, dancing with her in a fancy ball dress like she had asked him to, made him sick. This little thirteen year old girl who thought that she was ready to be a woman. She was a girl, yes. She was naive, yes. She was stupid no matter how smart she thought herself, yes.

_But_, Blaise thought as he let out a deep sigh, _she is in love with me, beautiful, and rich. Plus she's a free fuck._

"About a month or two. I'm going to New York," he answered, watching with delight as horror washed over her face.

"You're going there? That's... that place is..."

"You want me to find out what's going on with your brothers?" Actually, even if she did, he wouldn't waste his time actually doing it.

"I don't have brothers. I have a dead aunt," she said, giving him a look that only lasted a moment. Her face quickly went back to the 'cute' look that it held before. One of her hands reached out and touched him on the shoulder. He jerked away.

Who in the world did this fucking girl think she was, anyway?

"Why are you going there?" she asked, her voice coated with sickly sweet sugar. Blaise nearly gagged at the way she sounded.

"Business."

"What business?"

"Oh, expensive business. Business that would cost me a hell of a lot if I didn't attend." Just last night, he had received an emergency call from someone who needed a request. Draco Malfoy, the rich, pointy-nosed bastard. Malfoy said that he was offering him a great deal; take down Tom Riddle.

The offer started at half a million, which then Blaise quickly countered with two million. After some debates, they final reached an agreement at one million. All for his best men and him.

Blaise frowned as he thought of the debate. One million was a lot, Malfoy should have sounded grieved when they reached the agreement right there- _Blaise_ had. An atom of suspicion zoomed around in his mind, finally reaching a conclusion. That blond bastard had _meant_ the deal to be one million!

"Blaise, baby?" came the annoying purring again.

"Shut up, I'm trying to think," he snarled. The redhead withdrew from him and slumped onto a pillow, pouting. He took no notice of her as he thought over the deal. If he won, he would have the chance to conquer the north and take over his rival's territory, and he would gain a million more dollars.

Pretty soon, he'd be conquering the world. The thought made his face light up in a smile. The simple thought that the world could belong to him. Yes, it was a silly dream. But who said that it couldn't happen?

"I need money!" he finally declared out loud, turning around to look at Ginny.

"I have three thousand and four hundred available at the moment," she answered him, giving him a smile that he thought was meant to be seductive. His eye twitched a little at the smile, wondering why she needed to be seductive, especially when her smile was having the opposite effect on him.

"I'm talking about fifteen thousand," he said. Actually, he only needed eight, but why say no to extra money when it was what he could get?

"I only have three," she said.

"So get some more," he snapped. "Your husband's filthy rich!"

"You're rich too!"

Yes, he was rich. But he just didn't like spending his own money. He had a private vault underground that he had demanded his men to dig of his own that nobody knew about- the men that dug it were dead- and in that vault was millions, _millions, _of dollars. He had no clue of what was the exact amount, he hadn't bothered counting. Though, if he got the spare time, counting his money would be his next task.

Nothing in the world was more beautiful than money. Nothing smelled more sweeter to him than the smell of green cash and coins. The jingling of pennies was music to his ears- or even better, the jingling of quarters.

The best way to save up your own money was to use other people's, when you can. His beautiful Italian mother had taught him that. The bitch had cheated on his late father the moment that he fell sick, and before Blaise even reached eighteen, she'd gone through ten husbands, each more wealthier than the last.

She was now living in a peaceful resort in Hawaii, soaking up the summer sun and screwing around with men, in her own paradise.

"No, I'm not," he said. Now was the time for him to beg. "Please, doll. I need eighteen thousand."

"You said fifteen!" she cried.

"Oh, did I? I meant eighteen," he corrected, giving her a smile. "Doll?"

"But I don't have that!" she wailed- the sound of her voice made his whole body twitch with annoyance. Her voice was like a flea that just wouldn't jump off; it made his skin crawl with disgust.

"Write a check to this place under your husband's name. Forge his signature. It's easy, Doll. I'll get someone to go to the bank and cash it for me," he answered. The girl thought she was tough, but she was just dumb.

"But-"

He immediately stopped her words with a peck on the lips, cursing himself for having to do this. His mouth wandered down her neck, leaving trails of faint bites. She moaned- all too loud for just some hickeys- as he gently bit down on her collarbone. He looked up, considering the job done at the look on her face.

"So will you?"

"Yes," she breathed out.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stared at the paper and pen with surprise before looking into the face of his wife, who stared back at him with a calm, cool look. "What is this?"

"Just sign at the bottom," she said.

"I'm not signing anything until I know what the hell this is," he snapped, a hint of suspicion formed in his mind.

"It's the divorce paper," she answered, drawing an even more surprised look from his face.

"Divorce?" he echoed. Narcissa nodded. "What are you trying to pull?"

"I want a divorce. I'm going back to Jack," she said loudly in that same voice. "I'm sick of this place and I'm sick of you. Don't worry, I won't try to take any more money. Now you just have to put your signature down at the bottom, hand it to our lawyer, and consider-"

"I'm not handing it to any one!" he snarled, slamming his hand on the table. "And I'm not signing this either." His wife stiffened and sat up straighter. The calm facade was gone as she stared into her husband's eyes.

Neither of them said anything as he looked around the room and spotted one of the maids going by the doorway.

"Marie!" Lucius called out. The maid hurried over and he handed her the papers. "Burn it."

"Give that to me!" Nacissa shouted, suddenly standing up. Marie looked back and forth between the lord and lady of the manor, undecided on who to obey.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at her and turned back to her husband, mentally debating on what she should do. She had no energy to start another argument with Lucius. "Oh fine, burn it. But I'll still be gone, Lucius. And it will be no different than divorcing," Narcissa finally said, stomping out of the room, leaving a red-faced Lucius Malfoy and a shocked maid.

"Give me those papers!" he snarled. Marie quickly handed them back to him and hurried away

He went to his office and picked up the phone again.

It didn't normally take Diggory so long to find a person. Usually, not even a week. But it had been already a week and a half. Lucius considered this for a moment before dialing the phone number. He need that Jack person now, dead, his head off and on the percent off was a great offer, he decided.

"Detective Dig-"

"Find Jack!" Lucius snarled before Diggory could finish. "Find him and kill that bastard!"

A sigh was heard from the other end of the line as Lucius' chest heaved up and down with uncontrollable anger. There was a pause after the sigh, followed by rustles of paper before Diggory got back onto the phone.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have seventy-five Jacks' with me, and I'm having quite a hard time eliminating and narrowing them down. Please, if you have a last name-"

"If I have it, I would've given it to you already!" Lucius roared, patience wearing thin. "I can't believe that after five years of negotiating with you, you can't even find the person I want! You usually work faster than this!"

Another sigh was heard. "You usually give me the full name."

"My wife is leaving me!" the Malfoy shouted, then felt rather silly and embarrassed to tell someone that. "Now, you track that bastard down and kill him right this moment. Name your price, I want him dead within this month!"

"Is your wife going to this Jack?" Diggory asked.

"Yes."

"Good, leave her at that, and I'll get Jack for you in no time." Then the other line went dead.

* * *

"Harry, it's really okay," Draco assured as he gave Harry's hand a slight squeeze. "It'll be fine. Go in."

"You're coming with me right?" the boy whispered, voice trembling as he glance from the shop door to Draco. "Come inside with me."

"I am."

No matter what Draco said, the feeling of dread still resided within Harry's stomach like a lump of goo that just wouldn't unstick. He didn't want to go inside and face Riddle. But he had to. Ron and Dean and the twins were all in there, _if _Riddle had kept his word. Still, Harry couldn't forget the way that those people had looked at him the last time. He couldn't forget Greyback's cold, hard glare and the ring of bruises around Lupin's neck.

Last night, he had been looking at himself in the mirror for an hour straight. He did look like his father. He knew that he did, he just never really cared about it before. After that day, he had looked at himself differently. Like father, like son.

_"Your father was a true monster."_ Riddle's voice echoed again and again in his head.

Of course, Harry was sure that he, himself, was no monster. He had never done anything intentionally bad. But appearance counts sometimes and, after that day, his appearance counted a lot. His own face scared him.

"Come on," Draco urged him again.

Harry shook away his thought and took a deep breath. He stepped inside.

The same woman was behind the counter, just like the last time. Her head snapped up immediately at the sound of their footsteps. Her grey eyes lingered on Harry for a while, then to Draco.

"He's in there," she whispered loudly with fear before Harry could even say anything.

The blond beside him nodded and tugged his sweater. "In there."

* * *

They stared.

Some with anger, some with fear, some with curiosity as he walked into the bar through the "storage" door. But then they all quickly looked away, pretending that he wasn't even there, returning to their own conversations, laughing and arguing. Harry inwardly sighed with relief. Things might go on smoother without all those looks.

The cage by the front was empty this time; Nobody was paying attention to it. Card games of all sorts replaced an animal as the main source of entertainment. The bar was still dusty and dirty, and all those who had been in attendance last time were there again.

"You want me with you or here?" Draco asked him after they were three steps in, gesturing at an empty table. Harry looked back at him and shook his head. He wanted Draco with him. It felt safe when Draco was with him.

"Come with me," he said, turning his head, his eyes traveling around the room once again in search of his friends' kidnapper. His gaze quickly landed on Riddle whom, this time, had picked a table by the corner instead of in the center. The two outsiders headed towards him.

Harry's heart jumped nervously. He could feel Riddle's icy gaze on him as he and Draco approached the table and took their seats. A moment of uncomfortable silence. Harry looked at the wooden table, Riddle at Harry, and Draco glaring at Riddle.

"You've got it?" Riddle asked, interrupting the silence.

"Yes."

"Your friends are at the back door," Riddle said coldly.

"Thank you," Harry replied, trying to sound as polite and as sincere as possible but failing miserably. His tone was cold and hard. He thought he saw Riddle's eyes narrow for a moment.

Harry turned his head away and looked to Draco, snapping the blond out of his death glaring. "The money."

Harry could see Draco's jaw clenching as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a bundle of hundred dollar bills, all of them smooth and new from the bank. Riddle's eyes immediately lit up with greed that disgusted Harry to no end.

Draco withdrew his hand. "Harry's friends first," he told Riddle, who looked surprised, and obviously unhappy as the money disappeared back into Draco's pocket.

"Yes, they are at the back door," the elder man repeated, even more coldly, standing up. "Shall I lead the way?"

"Go ahead."

People didn't even look their way as the three of them stood up from their seats. The murmurs had suddenly gone low, however, and rose again as Riddle walked out of the room. Tables that Harry passed by grew silence as he went by them, their eyes rolled up, staring at the ceiling above as if it was the most interesting thing ever.

_Riddle ordered them not to talk to me?_

Harry frowned deeply. Either Riddle was trying to be nice, or he had planned something, and Harry didn't think that Riddle was exactly the nice kind of person. He paused at the door and his eyes scanned the people in the room. A couple of them looked back, but quickly turned their head away. Harry shrugged it off. Draco could handle the trouble if any occurred.

At least, Harry hoped he could.

"Harry!" the voice of Ron Weasley rasped from somewhere near. The brunette immediately spun his gaze around to the sight of the Weasleys and Dean, tied up and bound by ropes, back to back.

"Here they are," Riddle said coldly. "Now hand the money over."

Harry rushed to their side, letting Draco handle the business with Riddle. He quickly found a rock with a sharp edge and began to cut away the ropes. It didn't work.

"You have to use a knife," Dean said.

"Wait, hold on. I got it," Harry muttered under his breath, his eyes trained on the rope. A few moments later, the sound of a closing door was heard, indicating that Riddle had left. Harry didn't pay any attention to it as he paused to examine the ropes before beginning to cut again. He barely cut away a thread before Draco held out a real knife to him.

"Here."

The Weasleys and Dean stiffened, frowning as their friend took the knife and finished the job.

"You guys alright?" Harry asked as he pulled at the remaining ropes. "They didn't beat you up or anything, right? Did they do anything to you?" He looked at Dean. "They didn't-"

"No," Fred interrupted, a frown still on his face as he tugged at a piece of rope around his waist. "They were pretty good to us, for kidnappers, that is. Though they can't cook."

"Yeah, we ate raw potatoes for three days," George added, his nose scrunched up with distaste as he remembered said potatoes. "But otherwise, it was pretty decent."

"Oh," Harry said, both relieved and slightly disappointed – he was expecting something more exciting. "That's... good. I think." He sighed as they stood up from the ground, shaking dust and dirt off their already dirtied clothes. That was when he caught Ron's eyes.

Brown, lit with suspicion and distrust. Harry inwardly frowned as he watched his best friends eyes, following Ron's gaze to Draco

"Why is he here?" Ron asked, nodding towards Malfoy, who quickly pushed off of the wall he was leaning against, his bored face adopting an icy expression.

"That's... that's Draco Malfoy. He helped me," Harry answered as smoothly as possible.

"He _helped_ you?" Ron yelled more than asked. "Why would he help you?" His eyes went back to the blond. "How do we know that we can trust snobbish money-bags like you? Why are you helping us?"

"Ron, he lent me the money."

"Last time we met, he threatened to throw us off the train, Harry. What's with the sudden trust here?" Ron countered. The twins looked at each other and then back to Harry, their faces also riddled with uncertainty. Dean kept out of the conversation, expression as cool as Draco's.

"That's because-"

"-Your friend's with me." Draco interrupted in a loud and clear voice, moving to stand next to Harry.

Silence.

"You're in business with him?" Ron said with confusion. "Why didn't you tell me? And why would you want to do business with _him_?"

"It's not business," Harry answered quietly.

Fred and George looked at Harry, a sudden knowing look on their faces as they interpreted Harry's tone of voice, combined with his and Draco's words. Not business, but together. Realization dawned. Their expressions twitched a bit with surprise, and repulsion as they stared at Draco. "So you just suddenly decided to be friends with that guy for no reason?" Ron asked, still not catching on.

"No Weasley," Draco snapped, causing Ron to turn his head back. They glared at each other for a moment. "Your friend's _with_ me. And I don't mean it business-wise or friend-wise. _With_, Weasley, means together. Your friend and I are _together._"

"Draco," Harry hissed, disbelieving and panicked.

"What? You're going to deny it now that you've got your buddies back?" the man snarled.

"He's lying, right, Harry?" Ron asked in a flat tone, staring at Harry. "We're best friends. We tell each other everything. And I know that my best friend isn't a queer. Right?" Harry avoided his eyes and Ron's nostrils flared.

"Ron-"

"So you decided to play the Male Slut," his best friend snapped. "A female isn't enough."

"'Male Slut?'" Draco echoed with a frown.

Harry took a deep breath. "It isn't like that with me and Draco, Ron. We're serious."

This was responded to with a sarcastic snort. "Oh sure, you love each other very much and had been fiancées for over five years. What are you going to do next? Throw the biggest wedding of the century? How old are you going to be, Harry? Twenty-five? Did your parents die in a train accident, too? Are you going to change your name to Harriet to fool the press?"

A knot tightened in Harry's stomach as he bit down a wince at the words. He could feel Draco stiffen beside him.

"This is disgusting," Ron spat, his brown eyes cold and filled with rage. "If Percy was here, he would die all over again."

"Draco saved you," Harry burst out. "The least you can do is _try _to be understanding. Why would he do that if he doesn't love me?"

"That's nice," Ron said, monotone. "I wondered why that whore married a forty-two year old man. Oh, I don't know, maybe she loves him?"

The brunette's mind raced in circles. The adrenaline made his head dizzy as he stepped towards Ron, who stepped back as if Harry were something repulsive. A hand pushed him back.

"Hasn't your mother ever taught you that if you don't have something nice to say, then don't say anything at all?" Draco's voice. Panic and relief surged up within him at the same time. Draco could handle Ron, but Draco could also be reckless and stupid and start a meaningless fight.

"I don't need you to be my mother," Ron said harshly. He backed off, eyes averted to Harry. "And you're no different from that murderer. You're even more disgusting than she is." And Ron was out of the alleyway.

The twins bit their lips and quickly muttered a good bye. Dean followed in silence.

Harry watched them, mouth numb and face pale as each of them disappeared from his sight. Finally, he slumped down onto the ground, and stared up at the sky with confusion, as if the sky could offer some sort of explanation about the way his friends acted.

Why was he confused in the first place? Maybe it was because he never gave a thought about their reaction. He hadn't planned for Draco to burst out the reason that he was with Harry. He hadn't even given a thought about what would happen after Riddle released them. He was more worried about what Riddle might plan for them, whether Riddle might lie.

But Riddle didn't lie.

And Ron was angry.

It was normal for Ron to be angry. Harry would've been angry with himself if he was in Ron's position.

"Some friends you got there," Draco muttered, scowling, after a minute of no sound from Harry.

Harry decided not to answer.

A sigh from the Malfoy, and a hand touched his right arm. "Harry, let's go home. It's going to rain tonight."

"No." The respond came minutes later.

"Don't be silly, it's getting late," Draco said.

"No," Harry replied again, squinting up at the clouds. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them.

Ron thought that Ginny was a whore. Ron said that he was no different from Ginny. "He thinks that Ginny is a whore," Harry repeated this thought, not knowing why he was even saying it.

Draco looked at him strangely. "I'm guessing that she's his sister. Yeah, she's a whore. Now let's go home."

"She married Pettigrew because he's rich," Harry repeated Ron's words.

The Malfoy looked down at him, getting the idea of where this conversation was going. "You're not whoring, Harry," he said simply. Harry flinched and looked up at him with his alluring, green eyes.

"But I went to you for money," the brunette countered in a whisper.

"You're not whoring," Draco said firmly again. "Now if you don't get up, I'll have to carry you home." Harry didn't budge.

Draco sighed again and bent down so they were face to face. Harry turned his head away from him. "No, I've said it twice and I won't say it again. Repeat after me: I am not a whore."

"But I am."

He stared at Harry for a moment with disbelief and anger, and then put his hand on his forehead. "Harry, you can't... What are you going to do, then? Chase after him?"

"My mother thought that my father was rich," the brunette continued, his voice getting smaller and smaller. "Ginny married Pettigrew because he's rich, and I went to you because I want money. How is it any different?"

"It's different!" Draco hissed. "It just _is_! Stop thinking so much about it, alright?!"

"And you're a man," he finished. "I'm a man."

"No, Harry, that isn't how it works," the blond snapped, "did it matter that we're both males before? No, because you came back to me! You could have gone to a rich woman instead, but you came to _me_. Get it? Me."

"You're the only person I know," Harry said bitterly.

"Do you love me?"

The question slided out of his mouth like air before he could stop himself. His heart jumped at his own question, surprised that he would ask such thing. Draco took a deep breath and started again.

"I love you. Having sex with you makes me feel good. Do you feel the same way?" he asked more calmly, feeling himself going redder as each moment passed. "If you love me back, then you're not a whore. Whoring, to me, is sleeping with someone you don't desire. If you think that you're doing this for money only, then just tell me and stop being what you claim to hate."

Harry's green eyes lit up, and looked away.

"I won't force you to stay with me. The choice is yours. If being with me disgusts you, then leave, by all means," Draco continued, forcing his voice to be as calm as possible by taking deep breaths every other second. What was he saying? Harry would leave!

But one-sided love never turned out good. He closed his eyes and waited for the answer.

"Take me home, Draco."

* * *

The nearby clock struck nine, followed by a strong breeze of cold wind drifting down the streets. His breath formed tiny little clouds as he wandered down streets and avenues. He probably looked like a beggar.

Ron Weasley scowled as he passed a closed bank, cursing himself under his breath as he did so. He looked up and caught sight of the steps to the bank's front door.

Two or three people dwelled there. An old woman; Ron did not know whether she was dead or sleeping. Two kids by the corner watching him fearfully as they clutched on to what looked and smelled like beef sticks. The eldest glared at him, a glare that told him to keep away.

His stomach let out an embarrassing rumble, and he sat down, his face buried in his hands.

He wished that he could have something to eat. His mouth watered as he heard the sound of the kids greedily gulping down the beefs, the smell only furthering his hunger. He'd hardly eaten any of those potatoes that the kidnappers handed out- the twins took most of them-, he was too worried. But at that moment, he was not. He had just come out of anger and into grief. Grief brought hunger to him.

_Plit-plat, plit-plat._ The kids left.

He heard the rumbling of the night clouds, loud thunder.

It was going to rain.

And just as that prediction passed through his mind, a little drizzle of rain started to splat onto the ground. Somewhere near him, Ron heard the old woman getting up too, mumbling something along the lines of 'death to heaven' and left.

He took his hands away from his face. The rain covered them immediately.

It was showering. Within a second, he was soaked from head to toe. But he sat firmly on the steps of the closed bank as he watched people hurry past him, trying to find some sort of shelter.

He stared and stared, ignoring the chills of coldness that invaded his spine over and over again. He shivered involuntarily as the street emptied. It was just him now. Just him out there.

Harry was just like Ginny. Whoring for a man huh?

A bitter laugh found its way out of his throat, startling himself. He could actually laugh like that?

Cold rain dripped own his hair and onto his face. Goosebumps dotted his skin, bringing out his red freckles. He could no longer tell the the difference between the rain and his own tears.

The world had just gotten more creative, hadn't it? His honest, nice, funny, and understanding best friend and his sister, beautiful, princessy, proud, and smart. Both lost to money.

Ginny left them because they had no money. Harry went to that guy, a _guy,_ for money. Percy died because he was trying to earn money for them. The kids that was here before might probably become pickpockets soon because they wouldn't have any job to rely on. The old woman might end up living in a Missionary home till she pass away.

The bank closed because there was nothing left to lent. The economy slumped because stocks were suddenly worthless overnight. The absence of some dollars actually made such difference.

"This is ridiculous," he snarled. Was there even one thing in the world that was more important than papers?

Lightning flashed, followed by a loud rang of thunder five seconds after.

No.

Money bought greed. Money bought hatred. How long would it be before he or the twins would have to turn to someone, like Ginny with Pettigrew and Harry with that man. How long before they had to scoop so low? And what about Dean?

_What _about _Dean?_

Everybody back in town hated Dean and his mother. He was a negro, that just gave a reason for everybody to hate them. He had a better living condition than the Weasleys. Molly Wealsey looked down upon them for that. No blacks should be richer than the whites.

It was there his whole life, the money, the greed. Ron shivered and stared up at the sky. The rain blurred his eyes, or maybe it was his tears again. He didn't know which.

Where were he and the twins going to go? Where could Dean go? They didn't have anything. He didn't dare go back home now. His parents would be so disappointed. Neighbors would point at them and laugh. Gossip; the Weasley children can't make it. Their parents couldn't even support them.

Ron closed his eyes. They said suicide was the result of insanity, he said suicide was the road to life, a new life where no trouble existed.

He hoped his eyes stayed closed.


	20. Chapter 20

Harry sat upon the bed and stared at the opposite wall. Porkchop went by his feet and, after grunting a hello, took a small leap, attempting to get onto the bed with him.

"No," Harry whispered as he leaned down and stroked the pig behind its ear, like a dog. "Draco gets mad if I let you up. He doesn't like you on the bed, remember?" The animal snorted with understanding and, instead, lay down on the floor beside the bed post.

The bedroom door opened.

"They're all gone," Draco said quietly, closing the door, after checking behind him once again. "One of the maids told me that Lucius isn't going to be here for the night and Narcissa... well, she's not going to come back ever, I guess."

Harry nodded, feeling quite strange that Draco would call his parents by their first name instead of "Mother" and "Father." Maybe it was just Draco being Draco, he decided, and didn't say anything about it. And Draco's parents not being home was good. Harry wouldn't have to be as quiet as usual. The servants in Draco's house lived in a wing all by themselves. Most either don't know about Harry, or were paid by Draco to keep their mouthes shut.

He quietly shooed Porkchop out of the way as the blond made his way towards the bed, sat down, and placed a small kiss on his lips.

"Did Tom Riddle say anything to you when you gave him the money?" Harry quickly asked after the kiss ended. Draco, who had been leaning in for another one, stopped and shook his head, before continuing his conquest of Harry's lips.

"He didn't say a thing," Draco answered, moving from the lips to the cheek when he had Harry pinned beneath him. "Does it matter?"

"No-" A small gasp as teeth sank softly onto his collarbone, a hand wandering lower and lower. "- But... He's Tom Riddle. I thought he might be planning... Draco!"

He could see, from the corner of his eye, that the blonde's lips curved up into a delightful, playful smirk as he unzipped Harry's pants with one hand, the other already in them, cupping the boy's erection. He let out a small moan and gripped Draco by the shoulders, his erected cock growing even harder as a rhythm slowly began.

"I'm trying to be serious here," the brunette hissed, scowling, but unable to hide his blush.

Draco laughed. "This is no time to be serious, moron."

He was about to protest again but, when the man's skilled hand moved pass his hardened member, pushing a finger slowly inside him, he couldn't help but agree. Play time.

* * *

The light in Peter's study room dim; the only source of light was a lamp, sitting on the side of the desk.Behind the desk was a book shelf, half filled with books.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. This was it. All she needed to do was to find that check book, write a check - she had a copy of Peter's signature on a little piece of paper - and give it to the pub owner, who would then give it to Blaise.

_This is for Blaise, _Ginny thought, gathering determination. She loved Blaise, even though that he would probably never love her back. But that wasn't the point; she wanted to be his, whether he liked it or not. As long as she was with him, him not loving her didn't matter a bit. _Like Peter and me. That's the way things work, isn't it?_

"Come here, little checkbook," she mumbled, her eyes wandering around the room as she closed the door behind her. Peter was out; he wouldn't be back until the next month. And for the time being, the entire mansion was hers. She had keys to every room in the house, all except Peter's study room. It had taken her a long time to get in, struggling and perfecting the homemade key to fit inside the lock. But it was worth it. It was for Blaise.

Ginny went through the mess of paper on top of the desk. Nothing important.

There were several drawers, some locked. She tried all the ones that were unlocked.

No check book, nothing worth looking at.

Using the "key" that she had made, she began to unlock all the locked drawers. This was a trick that she had learned from Fred and George when, one time, she was helping them rob old Ben's "treasure chest", which turned out to be books and paintings he'd done of his late wife. They had gotten in big trouble for that.

But the trick she'd been taught by her brothers was useful.

Wait.

"What brothers?" she demanded rather loudly, scolding herself over and over again that she had no brothers, only a dead aunt.

Ginny opened the top drawer. Files; files of records and stocks. She flipped through some of them, then put the rest back, finding nothing interesting or worthwhile. The second drawer opened up. Several bank account records. She quickly pulled them out their container and continued searching in that drawer.

Some pens, more files. At the very bottom of the drawer was a check book. She let out a small laugh of triumph and picked it up, pulling out the desk chair and beginning to write the check for Blaise.

* * *

The dim light of the strange, unfamiliar room welcomed Ron Weasley's sight with a warm, homely glow as he woke up from his slumber, surprised and startled at the setting he was in. His brown orbs wandered suspiciously around his surroundings.

He was in a rather small room, consisting of a desk by the corner and a chair. There was a miniature stove in a corner, much like the one that Percy had bought for them, though this one looked as if it had been broken for a long time. A small light bulb - too dim to light much of the room - hung above him, on the ceiling. The walls were badly painted but clean, and a tiny window with rags for curtains adorned one of the walls, the cloth so still that Ron had first mistaken it for a picture. He was lying on the first of the three beds in the poky room.

_Is this a Missionary Home?_ Ron thought, and then frowned. Him being the only one there told him that it wasn't, because, Missionary Homes would probably be filled with the homeless.

_How long have I been here_? He threw the blanket that covered him aside and stood up. A pain suddenly struck him in his head, throbbing behind his eyes. A sign of a small fever. The redhead winced and sat back down.

He had told the twins to leave him alone for a while, that he need to think and get things straight, and had promised them that he would be home by night.

Was it night time?

His nose was stuffier than it had ever been, and his stomach twirled round and round, as if he might throw up any minute. Minutes. _Oh, right, the time_. Just as he was about to lift up his head to look for a clock, the door to the room opened.

"Oh good, you're well," a woman with a familiar, melodic voice said. He snapped his head around to look at the intruder, startled.

She was wearing a plain white blouse with a knee-length brown skirt, her bushy hair tied into a ponytail with a few strands escaping to curl around her face. Ron watched Doctor Granger as she settled the tray she was carrying on the desk. The smell of porridge and warm milk reached his nose, making his stomach grumble with hunger.

"I didn't know that you were awake. If I had, I'd have made more," she said, her voice patronizing, as if she was speaking to a little boy that she had known forever instead of a young man whom she probably didn't even remember encountering before. "Here, You can have my breakfast. I'm not that hungry." The tray was immediately bought to his side.

Ron forced himself to tear his eyes away from the food and stared her in the face. She looked back at him, expression strangely calm, before heading for her desk.

"Why am I here?" he snapped, and then felt a little embarrassed.

"You were out in the rain, sleeping on a stone-cold stair step," Granger answered, pulling several papers out and organizing them into two piles. "You think I should have left you out there? You could've caught pneumonia."

Ron sucked in a breath, letting it out a moment later to calm himself. The deep breath made him dizzy, and with a groan he lay his head back onto the pillow. "Alright, where's here?"

"My apartment," the doctor answered, biting her bottom lip in concentration before scribbling something down onto a piece of paper.

"Your apartment?" the redhead echoed, startled.

"Yes. I couldn't just leave you in the lobby, could I? My landlord would've kicked me out," she answered with a snort, shuffling the finished paperwork into a neat pile and preparingto head out of the room.

"Well, are you going to eat?"

"No," he answered, kicking off his blanket and standing up. "I have to go back home. My brothers'll be looking for me right now. I promised them that I'd be back. Thanks," he said it all in one quick breath and took his shoes, which he found to on a rack, and put them on. Doctor Granger watched him with a frown. "What?"

"You're not well enough," she said, "it's best if you lie down, for now. Who're your brothers? Oh, wait, I remember your family. You live in that abandoned boxcar by the lake, right? Don't worry, I'll tell them as soon as I can."

Ron jammed his large feet into the shoes. "No, you won't, because I'm going home. And... as for the bill - I'm assuming that there will be one, right?" He bit down a wince at the thought of Percy's medical bill. "We'll work something out later. Tell the doctor that."

His head was still a little dizzy as he placed his hand on the door knob, preparing to turn it. A rough tug pulled him back, and a pain shot through his skull. He winced as he was thrown onto the bed. Somewhere in his mind, an alarm went off, screaming of danger. Doctor Granger's sudden angry face loomed over him.

"What are you doing-"

"Look, you're sick. You're not in the condition to make it even one block down the street," she said. "So stay here in this bed - this is a patient's room. I'll inform your brothers."

Anger energized him. Ron stood up and glared at the woman, his eyes meeting hers in a challenging glare. "You can't tell me what to do. And if I need a doctor, I'll call for a doctor, not some useless nurse," he spat.

"I'm not a nurse, I'm a doctor!"

"Since when is there a woman doctor?!"

"Since Elizabeth Blackwell earned her medical degree in 1849!" she snapped, arms folded across her chest. Ron felt himself stiffen under her firm gaze, which he found very much like Molly Weasley's.

"Now, eat. You'll be well in three days, tops, if you listen."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy rubbed his tired eyes, forcing himself to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him. But the light was too dim, and he was too out of focus. He wanted to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, they opened again. And every time they opened they wanted to close, resulting in a strange pattern that annoyed him to no end.

His mind could only focus on one thing. Jack. Who the fuck was Jack? How did that person make his wife so...? Why had Narcissa chose Jack over him? How long had they been together?

Not that he would have minded before. He knew that Narcissa had affairs and she knew that he had. They've never spoke a word of it to each other, but it was obvious. They never worried about their side loves.

But Narcissa had never proposed a divorce. Just what made this Jack being so special?

_Just let it go, Lucius.__You're only forty-six. That's still young, and even if that slut left you, you have chances, a lot of chances._

The phone rang.

"Malfoy corp, Mr. Malfoy speaking," he drawled.

"Good news, Sir," Cedric Diggory's voice came from the other end of the line. "I found your wife's location."

His heart sped up.

"Where is she?" Lucius demanded.

"In a bar on Eighth Avenue, talking to the bartender right now, in a low voice. I think they're negotiating something. Oh wait, someone just came from the back, and she's following him," Diggory answered. "I can't communicate long, this is the bar's phone. I'll ring you up for the rest of the details tomorrow."

The line went dead.

_Bam. _Lucius threw his phone onto the floor with frustration. He took deep breaths and counted to ten, trying to calm himself down. After a while, he bent down and picked up the phone, putting it to his ear in order to hear the familiar sound of the dial tone. But he heard nothing.

Great, the phone broke.

* * *

"Well, long time, no see, Draco. How're you doing? Still relying on Daddy? Still rich as hell, right? Of course you are. After all, willing to spend one million on something like killing Riddle must mean that you're rich. That's good. That's good."

The Malfoy fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead put on his infamous Malfoy sneer as he gave Zabini a snobbish look. His palms were sweating like hell, though.

They were in a bar, surrounded by Zabini's men, who were all armed with guns and belts of bullets. Of course, he had his own gun tucked in a pocket inside his suit, but it was slow and small. The bullets worked just a little better than a B-B gun's, meaning that it was useless under this circumstance.

Which meant that he had to bite his tongue and not say the wrong thing. He highly doubted that Zabini would make a move, but who knew what the man was capable of. And being surrounded by murderous-looking men with guns tends strike fear in the bravest heart. Draco, unfortunately, was no superman, no matter how much he wished he was. He was very much intimidated at that point.

"Nice to see you again," he greeted through clenched teeth, forcing a small smile at Zabini. No need to make that man his enemy, but no point in making him Draco's friend either.

"These are my best men," Zabini said, immediately getting down to business, not even bothering to acknowledge the blonde's hello. "Croak, Goyle, Crabbe, and Bruce."

Draco nodded, looking from one to the other.

Croak looked very much like a more muscular version of Pettigrew. His beady black eyes held a glint of hidden intelligence when meeting Draco's. He was obviously the second in command of this five man band, leader when Zabini wasn't around.

The Malfoy nodded, approving.

Goyle's eyes showed Draco the intelligence of a tick. N_o offense to ticks_, he apologized silently as he asked Goyle a simple question: "How are you?" The man answered with a grunt not worthy of even a Neanderthal. The Zabini must have sensed Draco's doubts because he said, "Goyle is my best killer. Kills quick."

Crabbe was the biggest of them all, though it was more fat than brawn. Zabini claimed that he could aim well with a gun. "Can shoot the antennae off a roach from ten miles away." An obvious exaggeration.

Bruce was just what Draco would imagine if somebody just said that name to him. Pure muscle. But, like the other less intelligent ones, his little eyes were dull and showed no presence of a brain behind that thick skull.

_So of the four of them, the only one who has the brain to make decent conversation would be Ratman?_ Draco thought, a bit disappointed. _Zabini's tastes in henchmen. At least Riddle made some decent choices. _The thought of Lupin and Greyback flashed through his mind. _But they'll have to do. Makes me considered if one million's actually worth it or not. Maybe I should just hire that assassin that works with Diggory._

"When am I going to get the money?" was the first thing that came out of Zabini's mouth after a long moment of silence.

"Obviously after you do your job," Draco said derisively.

"That's good. Give us two weeks to prepare."

* * *

**Chapter note:** I'd like to put in a little disclaimer for Hermione's personality and character in this story. She's based on the main character of the book The Winter Rose by Jennifer Donnelly.

Sorry for the shortness and the choppiness, but I'll have to consider this chapter to be a "bridge" to the story. Things will get stirred up next chappie. :)


	21. Chapter 21

"Why didn't you come to me from the beginning!" Ron Wealsey could hear Granger's voice whispered loudly over the next room, her tone of voice was full of anger and frustration that it sounded almost like a hiss. He opened his eyes and turned towards the door. His head was clearer and his body felt stronger from the tea that she brew for his last night.

"The doctor told us to stay indoor," another woman answered snappishly. "The doctor said not to let her out, that she shouldn't be out of bed. But she was just so sick this morning and Doctor Bishop was so busy-" The woman's voice was cut off by the sound of loud coughing- a little girl.

A picture suddenly came to Ron's mind. A weak and skinny little girl, red in the face, coughing her life out.

"You should have came to me from the beginning!" Doctor Granger nearly shouted. Ron saw her shadow moving from the door and then out of sight. "Come, move her here onto this chair first and try to get her to drink this cough syrup first," she said. "And tell me just what are your instructions from Doctor Bishop."

The redhead could hear the sound of a creaking wooden chair as the girl sat down.

"He told us not to let her out of the house. Doctor Bishop also gave us two bottles of Medicines, one is cough syrup and one is for the fever, he told us. And her told us to give Mandy a lot of water-"

"Is it boiled water?"

"He said that it doesn't matter."

"Anything else?"

"No."

A sigh was heard along with the sound of the led of a pencil scratching against a piece of paper.

"Open your mouth Mandy," Granger said softly to the whimpering little girl. "What have you been feeding her?"

"We've been giving her a lot of water," the mother- Ron was sure that she was the mother after all this time- said. "And the medicines in the bottle. We've been trying to feed her a little vegetables like you told us to last week, but Mandy doesn't like them."

"I like candies," the little girl suddenly said, her voice was so hoarse and weak that you could bare make out the words she was saying. "I like caramels."

"No more caramels." He heard Granger said.

"But- but..." More cough.

"Mommy will get you more," the mother quickly assured.

Ron heard nothing from the doctor.

A little girl, sick. Pills for cough syrup and fever. Like Percy. He let out an involuntary shiver as the silence gone on. And then:

"You shouldn't give her anymore caramels, Mrs. Figg," came Granger's voice. "It's doing her no good."

"She's my daughter," Mrs. Figg said stubbornly. "If she wants candy, then I'll buy her candy. She's so sick! Why should I deny her of what she wants?"

"Caramel is harmful. It rots teeth and it increases her coughing."

"Doctor Bishop told me that it's alright for her to eat caramels. And there's nothing wrong with some sweets once in a while," the mother answered firmly.

Ron only heard Granger sigh.

* * *

All the color drained out of Harry's shocked face as he stared at the sight in front of him, not knowing what to think as the first thing.

"You like it?" Draco's low voice whispered beside him, planting a tiny peck on his neck. "I've got the keys to the kingdom all made too. One set for you and one set for me," the blond said. "None for Porkchop." He chuckled at his own joke as the piglet passed between Harry's legs, sniffing the carpet with the curiosity of a hound dog.

"I like it," Harry answered truthfully. "But... This is expensive."

"Well, you can't stay in my bedroom forever can you?"

And all Harry could do was frown. There was something suspicious about this, he decided. Draco looked more tired than usual lately. When he was not arguing with his father, he was in his room with Harry, looking at his checkbooks and bank account records.

Then this apartment. This beautifully designed, well-furnished, and Gothic-styled apartment just jumped right into his face as a surprise present. Not that Harry was not grateful for it; he just felt a bit wrong living here in a fancy flat while Ron and the others lived in a boxcar full of mice and such.

There was also something else. He had assumed that the reason Draco was tire were because of this flat and the endless pressuring and questioning that Lucius Malfoy had pounded on him day after day, the businesses that Draco had attended to, and the rumors floating between the servants of the house that Malfoy Inc. was failing.

If it was failing, then why did Draco bought this flat when it was obvious that this place was a plain waste a money. A simple flat would do.

Harry looked up into the face of his lover to find a pair of clouded gray eyes with dark circles under them staring back, somewhat filled with assurance that Harry could not tell if it was fake or not. "Don't worry."

Something didn't feel right.

"Are you alright Draco?"

"Of course I am," the Malfoy said.

"Did you have any sleep last night?"

"I... Yes I did."

_No you didn't._

Harry wrapped his arms around him and took in Draco's scent, vanilla. He smelled the faint smell of tobacco instead. The brunette froze in his arm, observing more of the smell in puzzlement. Draco never smoked and Lucius was hardly around the house lately. The servants wouldn't smoke when they were doing chores.

Was it a woman? Another guy?

"Why did you bought this for?" he found himself asking as he gently pushed Draco onto the couch, laying his head on the blonde's shoulder, that frown not going away.

"I didn't buy it, I rented it. It's for my baby," Draco cooed and pinched his nose, trying to be ethusiastic but ended up in a big yawn instead. The corner of Harry's mouth lift up in a small smile as he felt the pressure pressed on his nose.

"How much is this?"

"A little over ten thousand every six months," came the lazed reply. The brunette felt himself jump at the amount given.

"TEN THOUSAND?! Draco, you can't be serious," he said. From what he could see in Draco's checkbook last time, he only had a little over ten thousand left. There was a bigger amount there the time before. Harry scrunched his eyebrows together in deep thought. There was over a million there before the ten grand. Remembering harder, he could revision a note written beside that million in a record paper- that the million dollar was secured to be taken out soon.

This bought up more questions. What was Draco planning to do with a million?

"Draco, how much have you got left in your bank account," he asked as the blonde's eye began to droop.

"Does it matter?" he mumbled and lay down on the new couch.

Harry did some math in his head. There was over a million before, possible hovering closer to a million and twelve thousand. A million and ten gone, then that just left an amount around one grand- a small unit compared to the million.

Where did that million gone to?

"And ten thousand on this flat is just plain ridiculous," he muttered as Draco groaned softly and rolled over onto his stomach.

"Phf," he mumbled in his sleep. "Pansy spend nine thousand on her flat."

Harry's attention was immediately caught. _Who's Pansy?_

* * *

"The hideout is 15 Henry street, one of those jewelery for money exchanging shops," Croak began. "From what Goyle gathered-" He shoot a look at Zabini, who had proposed to let Goyle influence Riddle's group. "-Riddle are planning to leave in two weeks to head for another hideout in Mississippi."

Goyle grunted unintelligently and gulped down his drink. Fluids dribbled out the side of his mouth as he let out a loud, disgusting burp.

Zabini merely raised an eyebrow at the look from Croak and poured himself a cup of green tea, staring at his own teacup with a frown. He didn't even like green tea. In fact, out of all the drinks in the whole wide world, he hated green tea most of all. For some reason, it taste good to everybody else. But to him, it just taste bitter and prickled his tongue every time he drank it. But he had a cup everyday, first thing in the morning in fact, just to get it over with.

It was a habit that he had developed a long time ago that he just couldn't shake off. Somebody had forced that habit into him. He could still remember her face and her messy hair, and the way her mouth would grinned so childishly but yet evil as she would place the tea in front of him, urging him to drink.

The corner of Blaise's lips lifted up just a little as he took a tiny sip, suppressing a shiver of disgust as the taste flooded into his mouth.

_"Green tea is good for you."_ He could hear her amused voice said to him as his mouth protested against the horror that had invaded his taste buds. Blaise wondered if she was still at home back in Ohio.

"... has to attack from the back door, which lead out out into the Seventh Ave. It has to be early in the morning, breaking dawn when the police's patrol are the least. And then we would barg in and- I don't understand this," Croak grumbled. "Why must there be fire power? I could have gut Riddle by myself. Now that that Potter minion of his isn't alive, I could take him on one to... to two even!! We could capture him and..." Blaise heard him raged.

"Get over yourself," he snorted. "We're here to do a job."

"He killed my brother," Croak spat.

"The court killed your brother," Blaise corrected.

"That's because he was forced to take the blame," the rat-like man continued.

Blaise sighed, taking another sip to distract himself. "You said Potter was the one who made your brother take the blame. And besides, you're here to do a job. If you're not willing, then I'm afraid that I'll have to sent you back Croak."

"Don't, I'll do it..." the man muttered. "Now listen!"

The other three snapped to attention.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy felt his eyes beginning to blur with tears as a shiver creeped up his spine.

No, he wasn't crying. At least, he didn't think and feel as if he wanted to cry. He didn't sob nor did he wail like a kid would. He just stared, stared at the paper in front of him as teardrop after teardrop rolled silently down his cheek. As he stared, his brain turned to anything else beside that information on the paper.

He knew that his coffee was cold, for example, that if he ate the marshmallow that was floating on top of it, it will taste soggy and disgusting. He knew that the clouds outside were turning gray, and that there will be rain tonight. Not a lot of rain, but just enough rain to make the following morning smell damp, like wet clothes.

He thought about his son's declaration of a new freedom- the new apartment that Draco had bought for ten thousand dollars. _Ten thousand, _for goodness' sake. Draco acted as if money grew on trees, as if Lucius was made from money. Ten thousand on a flat was just pure ridiculous.

Draco said he was too old to live with him and Narcissa- like he didn't know that Narcissa wasn't here. He had dropped hints of a lover somewhere on the line though, and Lucius had let him go of the issue for the time being. Draco willing to spend ten thousand on a single girl must meant that she was special, special enough to make his son fall in love with her. Hopefully, she will make him more mature instead of stupid.

Narcissa, Lucius wondered about the telephone call. Diggory said that he will call three days ago, but Lucius never got the chance to replace the broken phone.

No, he can't hid from the truth that he had in front of him. Lucius buried his face in his hands and put down the paper, feeling his palm came in contact with the tears, and he sighed.

The paper was a report of this month's profits and expenses of Malfoy Inc. The company had spend more than they earned.

"This is impossible!" he had shouted at his secretary this morning when he saw the report. But the man only shook his head and walked off. Lucius then held a meeting, angry and wanted to get an exact explanation on the miscalculations.

There were no miscalculations.

And Lucius took a loss- too big of a loss to be ignored. In this month, he had lost 5 business contacts, many company stock values, and close to three million in dollars. At this rate, he would be in debt by Christmas.

"Calm down," he told himself in, ironically, a shaky voice. His body refused to obey his mind as he thought of the consequences that would effect from the sudden drop, and shivered again.

He tried to laugh. "Look at yourself, no wonder she left you." It only made him felt worse.

_Is Malfoy Inc. doomed?_ The question echoed over and over in his head.

* * *

Ron thought that she was going to cry. Her face was stiff and her lips were pressed firm. But her eyelids were droop low, as if sad and angry about something. She said absolutely nothing as she placed Ron's dinner and a cough drop beside his bed.

"You're... Are you alright?" he asked.

Her eyes snapped up for a moment in surprise before lowing them again, managing a nod.

"You don't look well," he continued.

"I'm fine," she answered. Her voice was crackling, sounded just like Molly when she was on the brink of tears. "Just eat your food. I think you should be well in one more day."

"Did you see my brothers yet?" he questioned immediately.

Granger looked surprised again. "Oh... Oh yes. I did this morning. I didn't see your brothers though. I just hope I went to the right boxcar. Here hold on," she said, digging her hands into her pockets for something. The surfaced a minute later with a piece of paper. "I think they wrote this. I didn't look," she added the last part on quickly.

Ron took it from her and opened the note up. Fred's distinctive penmanship jumped right at him and he chuckled. Handwriting was practically the only way to tell the twins apart aside from all those scientific things that involved fingerprints and other stuff that Ron never bothered with.

_Der Ronie-kin, our dering litle bother, _

Ron blinked, wondering if this was all written on purpose or Fred just can't spell. Can Fred spell? His brother- or bother- was never really the school's best student.

_We and Dean hav desided on a chois. We wan to go to Calefornea and deeg for goald. Wen we com bac, we ar goin to be rich and famus._

_Sincarely,_

_Fred Weezy, George Weezy, Dean Thomas_

Panic, happiness, and rage jumbled up into one pile of ball and rolled over him, exploding in his head, scattering everywhere.

They left him to "deeg for goald" in "Calefornea" so they can come back and be "rich and famus."

_How are they going to do that when they can't even spell their names right? Except for Dean, _Ron thought bitterly, hating that they left, and hating even more that they didn't even wait for him. "Litle bother" huh? He wonder if the "bother" part was spelled wrong on purpose.

_Very funny._

So what did they expected him to do. Survive by himself?

"Mind you tell me about what it says?" Granger's soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Ron glanced up, accidentally stared into her eyes and looked down again immediately.

"They left to dig for gold," he answered in a monotone.

She nodded again but said nothing as he folded the paper smaller and smaller until it was no larger than his thumb, and put it under his pillow.

"Eat, your food is going to be cold." Hearing her urging, he picked up the spoon that lay beside the bowl.

"Did they took everything?" he asked, a lump rising up to his throat, nearly choking and blocking the words. The spoon was in his hand, but his couldn't budge it. A sour feeling burst in his throat and moved to his mouth, which suddenly felt dry.

"The boxcar was empty," she responded. "From what I could see, that is. You might want to check?"

"No bags left in corners? None of my stuff on the floor?" _No._

"No, sorry Ron," she said.

The twins were known for being selfish and greedy.

"Nothing?"

"I could check again. I could have missed something," Granger offered.

"No, it's alright," he answered, licking his lips as the spoon full of the hot liquid reached the edge of his lips. He parted his lips and swallowed it, feeling the sourness going away as the fluid washed over them. The soup would have been good if it was served some other time when he was happy, but he can't taste anything.

Where would he go? They took all his things. Taking other people's things was one of the habits that the twins just could not shake off. They would take everything they liked and needed.

_Maybe I'll catch up with them._

"When did they leave?" he asked Doctor Granger, who have moved away from him and currently sitting in the desk by the corner, her pen glued to the paper and her lips sealed and thin. She wasn't even concentrating, Ron could see. Her head snapped up in surprise by his voice and she turned around.

"What?"

"When did they leave?" he repeated his question.

"I don't know, I only saw the letter."

"Was the room dusty?"

She jerked her head away, and without saying a word, the jerk told him yes. He was here for over three days. He could have been gone it two if he had took all the medicine and stayed in bed for two full days, but he didn't listen much to her. It had probably took his brothers a day to argue, decide, plan, and pack. Two days to travel. He wouldn't be able to keep up.

The dish of broccoli was untouched, and probably cold. He never liked broccoli and he had even less appetite for it by then.

"Are you going to eat?" Ron asked Granger.

Her head snapped up again with that same surprised expression.

_I've never been nice to her for the three days._

"No."

"You look tired."

"I am a bit."

"I didn't know that being a doctor could make a person this tire."

Awkward silence.

"An old woman died today, along with a pregnant woman who had a miscarriage," she said softly, breaking the awkward moment. Ron stared at her. "Doctor Bishop was on lunch break and me and Angelina was trying to help with all the patients... The old woman had an appointment for a check up that day and we didn't think it was that big of a deal. Then she had a heart attack right in the waiting room..."

She stopped there, holding in a breath, probably stopping a sob right along with it.

"And?"

"We couldn't get her into an emergency room fast enough; she kept struggling and we're afraid to hurt her, she's nine-one years old and her body's fragile and weak. Then the mother's water broke and started to scream and it was a complete chaos. Me and Angelina didn't know what to do," she answered, her voice thickened as her eyes started to water. She turned away from Ron just as a tear rolled down her cheek.

"What about the doctor?"

"He's on his lunch break."

"He didn't attend to them?"

"...No," she repeated.

"But they're his patients."

Granger let out a bitter laugh. "He's on his lunch break. He couldn't bare to part with the excellent lunch that his wife made him. Why would he listen to the reasoning of a few lowly nurse and screaming of people that he didn't even know." She said with a snarl.

"But he's a doctor," Ron whispered.

"Yes he is."

"A doctor is suppose to help people."

"Or so I've always thought and believed," she answered weakly.

"You helped me."

"I'm a doctor. That's what I'm suppose to do."

"But why didn't he help them?"

The sound of pen scratching against paper filled the silence room instead of an answer from her. Ron looked at her for a while, hoping that she would respond. After a while of no response, he put the tray on the floor and lay down on his pillow, pulling the cover over his head. He listened to the rhythm of the writing like it was a lullaby, feeling safe knowing that he was away from the real world while in this little room.

* * *

"So, money does grow on trees?" Lucius snarled at his reflection in the mirror as he examined himself in his black suit and slicked hair. "This is my fault that he grew up this way."

A million. A million secured to the side, planned to be taken out soon in Draco's Citibank account.

"Ten thousand on a girl is one thing," he said, his voice bordering the line of shouting. "But a million? A _million?_"

He quickly went down stairs and drank a cup of water. The breakfast was already done on the table, waiting for him. It will have to wait longer.

"Let see about this special girl," he muttered to himself as he got into his car and started the enging. "Let see just what special about a single girl that made her worth a million in your eyes." Then he winced at his words, feeling as if he was being a hypocrite. He had spended way more than a million on women in his time, even though he had never spended all that money on just one.

No, he had with one. But she didn't even love him back. Still, he must meet the girl who had his son so twisted up to the point there he was willing to offer a million. He pulled out the slip of paper that contained Draco's address on it and drove away.

He parked in the parking lot beside the building.

The doorman gave him a greeting of a mere hello as he walked in and demanded to speak to Draco Malfoy. Roger- the doorman- gave him the apartment number and pointed the direction out to him, which he replied with a simple nod before walking away.

He knocked on Draco's door three times, recieving no answer. He knocked three times again.

_Maybe he's not home_.

The door was not lock.

Lucius frowned as he stared at the knob, and turned it. He gently opened the door and stepped inside the living room of the apartment. Indian carpet covered the room from corners to corners, the table cloth are made from black silk. The China dishes were stacked neatly by the sink counter and the light from the ceiling gave everything a warm, homely glow. Everything was either in silver or green if not in black- Draco's favorite colors.

A noise travelled to Luicus' ear from one of the rooms down the hall. Sounds of deep moaning, making him frowned even more. There were panting and hissing sounds- all too strange for Lucius to comprehend. It wasn't like he had never heard Draco having sex before- he had heard it often with all those women that his son bought in.

No, it was the way that his son was acting. He actually spoke this time. Of all those times during midnight when he had passed Draco's room to get a cup of water downstairs, he never really heard Draco speaking to any of his bed partners. This time, there was hardly any screaming, just gentle, deep moan and pantings. A lot of pantings.

A loud groan from Draco, indicating to Lucius that it was done. The father found himself blushing for standing there this whole time and listening. The pantings lessened.

_I should come back later,_ he told himself. _Maybe about an hour later where I could go face to face with them and demand a proper explanation- and meet his new girlfriend of course. Going in like this would be embarassing and awkward._

But something seemed very, very wrong. His feet bought him to the front of the door, where he found a pig sleeping a few feet away from that. _A farm girl?_

The bedroom door was unlock too. _Do I have to teach him to lock his door all over again?_

It opened.

He heard Draco gasped with fear and sounds of shuffling blankets as the doorknob swung out from his hand.

Then everything froze.

From the distance the person looked like a girl- the pouting upper lips and flushed face, messy curly hair, a pair of beautiful emerald eyes and flushed, soft cheeks. The chest was flat, however, and the person had masculine abs and toned muscles that only a boy could possess.

Both of them stared at him with shock and surprise, faces paled as he shook his head in disgust and disbelief.

_No._

"Father-" Draco started.

Lucius closed the door.

_This is a dream_.

He walked out the apartment, gently shutting the entrance behind him, his mind in a daze.

_I'll wake up tomorrow._

He didn't even give a nod to the doorman as he headed out the building.

_My son, my only son cannot be...._

He got into his car, and slammed the car door.

_He's not a queer, it just a dream, a very, very bad dream that I'll wake up soon from. It's not true. _

He can't deny that sight though.

_He's my only son, God, you can't do this to my only son. You took my wife and you're taking my fortune that I've worked so hard for. Why are you doing this to me?_ God gave him no reply. Did god exist?

His eyes became blurry all of the sudden. Horrified, he raised a hand to wipe the tears away. This was like yesterday, he told himself. The tear was there because they were just there. He just need to release some emotions and let go. The tears kept coming.

Lucius placed his forehead against the car wheel and tried to relax. The tears won't stop. But he can't be crying, he hadn't really cried in twenty years. Tears would come one day or the other for him, but he never really meant them. He never really cried.

_Cry. It's alright to cry,_ a voice said. And he cried.


	22. Chapter 22

The outside was gloomy and dark as Ron picked up the sweeping broom from the corner and swept the floor for what seemed to be the fifth time that day. He had nothing to do. He tried reading, only to fall asleep on the first paragraph of the piece. He tried cooking, but instead burned the bottom of the frying pan. The only thing that he was capable of doing is cleaning and lawn-mowing. And since there were no lawns, he settled for cleaning the house from top to bottom.

The ceiling seemed to be sparkling, Ron smiled as he gazed up at it. Now that he was well, he took full advantage of this and did his exploration around the apartment. Of course, there was no way that he would go outside, nor did he wanted to. There was no place for him outside, and this little apartment- consisted of two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room- was more welcoming and homely than anything to him in the streets of New York.

"I guess I shouldn't be getting too at home," he muttered out loud. "This isn't my place." But it felt like his place. He felt like he belongs there. "This is her apartment; I'm only borrowing the Patient room for the time being. And I didn't even say thank you."

Nobody answered.

"Thank you," Ron said into the room, not exactly focusing his gratitude at it. But the person was not here for him to credit, and this empty room would have to do.

The front door opened, startlingly him. The familiar tip-tapping of the female doctor's footsteps followed the sound of the closing door. She glanced up, staring at him alarmingly.

"What are you doing out of your bed?" she asked in a small voice. Ron stared at her with a slight suspicion.

Her eyes were bloodshot red, indicating that she had been crying, her clothes were wrinkled in places- collar, sleeves, around the waist,- like someone had been tugging on them. Several buttons were missing and her bushy hair was a wild mess. Not messy like Harry, messy like she had been electrified. There was a faint sign of a hand print on the left side of her cheek and a bandage around the forefinger of her right hand, her left hand was completely wrapped. Tiny dots and streaks of blood decorated her white coat.

Granger turned away when she noticed him staring.

"What happened," he asked, not bothering to hide the concern and curiosity in his voice.

"Nothing, I have a rough day."

Ron hesitated as he took one more look at her appearance. "You always have rough days," the redhead said. "What make this... What's with your hairs and that coat?"

"I didn't bother to brush it this morning, and I performed a surgery," she answered flatly.

"You performed a surgery yesterday, you told me."

"That was a minor one."

He did not give up. "Why is there missing buttons?" came his demanding again.

"A kid got mad at me and ripped it off." Such believable answer.

"Why were you crying?"

Granger turned around and glared at him, throwing her purse onto the ground. "What are you? A human questionaire?!" she retorted and Ron saw a box behind her. A box full of papers, files, two white coats; all her stuff.

"You got fired?" he asked.

"Yes!" she replied with a hiss as she picked up that box and accidentally spilled the papers all over the floor. A tear drop rolled silently down her face as she bend down, hands trembling as she picked up the first sheet of paper.

Ron was stunned. "Why?"

"Disobedience at the employer's direct orders," came the answer.

"...What?"

"I didn't do what he said," she translated.

The redhead blinked and frowned. "I don't get it," he said slowly.

Granger opened her mouth like she was going to explain, but her mouth briskly transformed into a tight smile when she turned to him, her eyelids lowered, not looking at him. "It's nothing, we have an unpleasant little argument and he fired me."

"He beat you," Ron concluded instantly.

"No he didn't. He just..." She quickly shuffled the paper into a neat pile and placed it back into the box. Another tear rolled down her cheek as she stared at the booklet in her hand. Ron recognized it as one of the booklets that she was writing for her patients. She had finished it last night and had bought it to work this morning, cheerfully whistling and proclaiming how she would finally make her patients understand the importance of nutrients.

The booklet had been ripped in half. It had taken her forever to write it. Her eyes watered. "He... He had an argument with his wife, and he went to my office for 'emotionally release'-" You could practically hear the quotes around "emotionally release". "- I thought that he wanted to talk. Turns out he had different plans, plans that I don't agree with. And-"

"He WHAT?!" Ron shrieked, getting the hang of what happened.

"He picked up a sissor and... cut the buttons off. I tried to stop him and he... it went through..." She held up her left injured hand and shivered. There was blood in the middle. The doctor had stabbed her palm.

"Angelina saved me, and he fired both of us," she finished her story quietly and shook her head before proceeding on gathering more paper, dumping them into the box instead of stacking them neatly and went completely quiet for a moment.

"I shouldn't be saying stuff like that to you. Here, help me with these."

There were no assistance answered her call. Instead, stomping of footsteps by-passed her and she turned her head up. Ron was heading for the front door.

"What are you doing?!" she demanded.

"I'm going to give that bastard a piece of my mind! That's what!" he answered, his hand on the door knob. Granger shot forward and stopped him before the door fully turned.

"No," she said firmly. "What are you doing?"

"What?! He raped you!"

"He did not!"

"He tried!"

"Sit down!"

Ron let go, his chest heaving with anger as he took two steps away and placed himself into a chair.

"It's none of your business. I'm only worrying about how am I going to pay the bills for this apartment. I've got enough for two months and that's it."

"You should have called the police," the redhead said.

"And what? Getting into a fight in the court that I'll eventually lose? He's a well-known doctor, you idiot. I'm just glad to be away from him."

"You should have quit a long time ago."

"And waste my eight years of studying? I'm a woman Ron, I'm lucky that I can get that job. It only pays me half of what it would pay a man, but it pays a lot, more than... More than some other jobs that I worked. It's better than being on the streets or in the... Oh I should really shut-up. Now calm down, it doesn't even have anything to do with you."

Ron opened his mouth and closed it again as he stared at her.

"Thanks for cleaning my home."

He wanted to say "You're welcome," he wanted to answer back with a "thank you" after that. But without warning, something completely different burst out of him. "Were you a prostitute?"

Seeming Granger stiffened, he quickly added an "I'm sorry."

"I was, somewhat, that is. It was a long time ago. And it had been only one man. Why did you ask me that?" she asked before picking up the box and placing it onto a nearby shelf.

"You look pretty." Another slip of tongue.

The doctor made a small smile, walking over to the sink to wash her hand. "Thank you, it's been a long time since anyone called me pretty."

Impetuously, he got up and kissed her.

It barely last a second, it felt like only a second. Ron quickly pulled away, mumbling with apologies, expecting a slap or a punch. Neither of them came, and he felt like slapping himself.

"How old are you?" she breathed.

"Fifteen," he answered, wanting to say something older but stopped himself. He can pass for seventeen at the most, like that would help.

"I'm thirty-three."

Eighteen years older than he was, Ron inwardly cringed at the difference. "I guess you want me to leave?"

"No. It's my fault. You're a kid, you don't know what you're doing. Besides, I don't kick people out onto the street over careless little things like that," she said softly. "But we won't want that to happen again would we?" She stopped for a second. "Just forget about it. Help me make dinner."

* * *

It was already two days after that little "incident" where Lucius had caught them together when Draco decided that it was long enough for his father to be calmed enough for a face to face talk with him.

Draco closed the door to his father's office silently, biting his lips and trying to stable his shaking hands as he turned around to face Lucius. His father did not met his eyes at first, which was understandable. The younger Malfoy looked down on the floor and took a deep breath, knowing what he had to do.

"I'm sure that you want to talk to me," he began, wincing inwardly at his trembling, weak voice, the type of tone that he rarely possess. Lucius looked up with surprise written on his weary face. He had developed some wrinkles in the past few days, Draco noted.

"Sit," his father said stonily. Draco stepped closer and took a seat. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

"You don't want to ask me about it?"

"About what?" Lucius asked, obviously pretending to be clueless as he looked through some files in his hand.

"About-" he choked on his words for a moment and silently urged himself on. "About that boy. Harry."

"Harry? That boy?"

"The boy that you saw me with yesterday."

"I didn't see you yesterday," the elder Malfoy denied the statement. "I was here in my office all day yesterday trying to get some work done."

"Father, you're not a good liar."

"Since when did you started to call me father. Last time, it was plain old Lucius," he snapped. "If you're just going to talk nonsenses to me here, then I plead you to leave. I need to get some work done."

Draco grounded his teeth and stood up. "Are you going to deny like you've denied mother's affairs all these year!?"

"And since when was it's 'mother' to you? You've always called her Narcissa." his father snarled coldly. "Get out of here Draco."

"I love him." Lucius pay no heed as he looked back down at the paperwork in his hand. "Father, are you listening to me?" He wasn't. "I said that I love him, Lucius!" A fist suddenly came in contact with his face, sending him stumbling backward. Draco's hand quickly shot out and caught the chair he was sitting in before, catching himself as he hit the floor, his head a bit dazed.

His father punched him. His father had never punched him in his life.

Something wet dripped out of his nose, rolling past his lips and onto the floor in a form of crimson red liquid. Draco quickly pressed the left sleeve of his shirt onto his nose, catching another drop of blood. A metallic coppery taste flooded into his mouth as he licked his lips and swallowed.

"No you don't," Lucius whispered harshly.

"I do."

Slowly, Draco got up.

"You love women Draco. You've always loved women. You've slept with so many of them..." he began, and then an immediate light lit up in his eyes after the pause. "This is some sort of joke isn't it? You're trying to make me mad. I understand Draco. You pretend to sleep with that boy to play a prank on me right? To see me go all angry over this? I understand that the work is pressuring, and I'm a bit out of myself for the past few weeks." He paused again. "Are you short of money right now? Is that why?"

Draco narrowed his eyes as anger boiled in his blood at his father's hypothesis. His chest heaved up and down with rage as the elder Malfoy shook his head and let out an almost amusing laugh, like Draco was a little kid who had just told the most sinful, yet the funniest joke ever. Like the humor in the joke overrode the sin and all was forgiven.

He was not joking.

"I love Harry," Draco repeated himself as he stood up. Lucius only shook his head, as if to dismiss that.

"You can't," Lucius said in a low, but firm voice. "Love between two men... it's not possible. It's ridiculous, Draco. This so-call love that you're experiencing with that young man is just pure lust or a mere stage you're going though. And if not, just a prank. You'll get over it-"

"I'm not getting over it!" Draco hissed, the rage that he had been pressed down to the bottom of his stomach surged up and ran through his whole body. Adrenaline pumped through his vein, fueling the raging emotions.

Lucius glared at him with a pair of stone-cold gray eyes. "You're not bent Draco. I know my own son. This is just a rebellious stage you're going through."

"Then maybe you don't know me as well as you thought you do!" Draco snapped, wiping the last of the blood off. "I'm just here to ask you for your acceptance, not your understanding of me!"

"Then you should know perfectly well of what's coming for you!"

"I know, you're going to disown me," he said in a monotone, looking please to see his father's lips grew thin by his tone of voice. _Let Lucius know that the Malfoy title do not matter to you, let him have nothing to threaten you with._ Lucius' eyes widen for a moment as he breathed deeply, sighing a second later and look at Draco with dark gray eyes of displease.

"You don't really mind?"

_Give him nothing._

"You've never listened to me anyway. I'm foolish to think that you'll start now," he started to say. "But with this... No, I'm done lecturing. We'll do it your way Draco, like we've always done. You're disowned. Come here next morning to pick up your remaining work and junks. I'll file the forms and papers tomorrow to my lawyer and it'll be over within the month."

Draco could only manage a small nod. He tried to breath, but find the breathe rather tremble and weak. His mind twirled around and around in disbelief and confusion of why he would be denying what he had expect to happen. Lucius disowning him was the predicted response, and he had not really been acting like a part of the family for a long time. Disowning won't even make a difference in his life.

Something felt weird. Wrong, as if the encouragement he gave to Lucius about the disowning option- he did suggest it , sort of- was the wrong choice. _There's a hole there somewhere. There's something out of place._

_But what? I've thought about everything. Lucius disowning me shouldn't be..._

"You're not permit to go to the bank from this moment on. I'll notify the bank immediately. Your account will be froze."

Draco's head snapped up in realization, his skin paled at the announcement. He had forgot that because Lucius was his legal guardian when he had opened the bank account a few years back, his father- _ex _father- had total charge of what was going on.

He still hadn't taken out the million for Zabini.

"Leave that account alone!" he found himself screamed. He cannot lose that million. He cannot break his promise to Zabini. Insults hurt the Italian man like spitballs would, but the lost of opportunity at more money is another thing. Zabini could stand losing a chance at a million? He would kill Draco for accusations of lying.

Lucius raised an eyebrow at him. "If you think that you can still spend the family money when you're not in the family, then you'll need to rethink your thought again."

"I earned the money in there," Draco snapped. "I worked, just like a regular employee do."

"A regular employee in your position of job barely made fifteen thousand a year," Lucius said. "I put in to your account half a million every January. It's a little too much anyway in my opinion, and to think that you're still allow that money after this? Not a chance. The account will freeze by tomorrow morning. If you want to take me to court, Draco, then you're welcome to. But it'll not be a good choice."

"I need that million," he tried to reason.

"I'm not letting you spend a million on a little boy."

"It's not for Harry!! It's-" he stopped as Lucius held up a hand, indicating him to shut-up. Knowing that it was over, he slowly opened the door and walked out of the office, face burned with humiliation as secretaries and such people turned around to stare.

"You've finally taught him a lesson eh? Mr. Malfoy," someone yelled at his fa- Lucius as he stepped out of there and into the empty hallway. There was no answer to the comment.

* * *

_Maybe it was a bit harsh of me,_ Lucius thought as he covered his face with his hand and thought about what just happened. Draco was his only son, and a rebellious one at that. It was typical of him to do something outrageous.

_But a _boy_? He fell in love with another male! That's unacceptable. Should I talk things over with him?_ Someone knocked.

"Co-" he paused to clear his throat when noticing the cracking in his voice. "Come in."

His personal secretary, Mr. Davis calmly opened to door and poked his head in. "There's a phone call from a Mr. Cedric Diggory outside sir."

Lucius' heart leaped, a sudden feeling of guilt settled in his stomach and he winced inwardly. Diggory had said that he will call that following day after the last phone call, and Lucius had never came around to replace the broken phone. He promptly got up and followed Davis out of the room, heading for the front desk where a phone lay on the counter waiting for him.

"Mr. Diggory?" he asked.

"Mr. Malfoy, the least you can do is see to that your phone line is connected, or at the _very _least make some more business cards to pass out. Do you know how hard is it for me to locate a card of yours, even when Malfoy Inc. is so popular?" A voice filled with irritation grumbled at the end of the line.

Lucius took a deep breath and started to explain, "I'm sorry, Mr Diggory. I broke my pho-"

"Never mind," the detective snapped. "I've located this so call Jack- person. Oh, and your wife is with him. I won't tell you who he is though because we're talking on the phone. And what a surprise. I solved two of your requested cases in one."

"What?"

"Never mind that," Diggory answered oily. "But I have the address. Do get a piece of paper and copy this down."

"Wait," he scowled, looking frantically around the desk for a paper and a pen.

"Do you still want my partner to fin-"

"No, that's fine."

"It's thirty percent off, Mr. Malfoy."

"I said 'no.'"

There was silence on the other end, and then Diggory told him the address. The place might take about thirty minutes of driving. He could be there right now, he could save Narcissa right now. Lucius slammed the phone back to its cradle and left immediately, ignoring the questioning from his assistants.

* * *

"Let me go over this one more time; you told your old man about that new _numero uno_ of yours, he goes all _loco_ and disowned you, and now you're running to me because you didn't get the chance to take out your million for that Zabini bastard right? Well what can I do for you, ex money-bag?" Pansy Parkinson's irritated voice growled from the other end of the telephone menacingly.

"Can you lend me a million dollars Pansy?" he asked quietly once again, finding much similarities between a provoked pregnant woman and a woman who was drunk.

"Oh is the great and all-mighty Draco Malfoy actually begging me? Are you down on one knee with your hands clasped together? Ha, what a sight would that be!" she taunted and laughed hysterically in an ugly screech. Draco held the phone from his ear and groaned, waiting for silence. She coughed twice. "...Sorry."

"Can you lend me-"

"Oh sure. A million? But don't think that I'm going to spare you the interest, ex money-bag, you still have to pay back... Wait, why didn't you just fire Zabini?"

"Because he's Zabini and I'm alone!" Draco stated the obvious, nearly shouting.

"...Oh, of course. He'll beat you up."

"Can-"

"I'll lend you a million, shut-up." Draco shut-up right away. "And how's things going on with you and your beloved Juliet? Is she sleeping well? Can I talk to her? Why doesn't the old stuff-shirt like her? Let me guess, she's a prostitute who's ten years older than you with five kids right?"

"..."

"Pointy-nose?"

"When can I get the money?"

"In two days. I'm a bit tire right now even though _mummy_ and _daddy_ stopped bugging me," she said the two parental titles with great sarcasm.

"I'll stop by your place tomorrow Pansy," Draco said, and hung up.

* * *

"I'll stop by your place tomorrow, Pansy," he heard Draco said before hearing the clicking sound of the phone being hung up.

Harry froze in his place like a statue, a sick feeling flooded inside of him like burning lava. His lips had gone dry as he stared down onto the floor, still holding the bags of grocery even though his fingers ached to put them down.

Pansy, Pansy again_. "I'll stop by your place tomorrow Pansy_." He had bought another place for this Pansy, how much did that flat cost? Nine thousand? Harry sniffed loudly, and covered his mouth to prevent a sob, and maybe to muffle the sniff even though he knew that it was impossible to do so.

"Harry?" Draco called out from the living room.

Draco had been with women for so long, of course it was only natural for him to go back to them_. I'm just a stage in his life. Being with a boy is different and new. I'm a vacation for him_.

"Harry, why are you standing by the doorway? Lock the door and come in," Draco said, his voice drawing closer by each second. The brunette's hand remained on the knob as thoughts of running away formed in his mind. Just as he was about to drop the bogs and run, a pair of hands placed themselves onto his arms and gently removed his own hand from the knob, closing the door behind them.

He wanted to disappear.

"What's wrong?" the blond asked as he leaned down, gently pecking his tear-streaked cheeks, licking the salty tears away. Harry shivered. The Malfoy pulled away. "Did someone hurt you?"

He sniffed again and looked up into Draco's concern-filled eyes. "Who's place are you stopping by tomorrow?" he demanded, trying to sound cold, but only managed to croak like a frog. Draco blinked innocently as a reply.

"What are you talking about, kid," he teased after a moment of silence passed, and wrapped his arms around Harry again. The brunette could feel the way his muscle tensed.

"Who's Pansy?" he demanded again.

"Who's Pansy?" Draco repeated his question swiftly, like he was the one who didn't know.

With teeth grounded together, Harry roughly shoved the blond onto the couch. A startled and angry expression flickered Draco's face. "What are you-"

"Don't play games with me!"

The blond threw a pillow that had plopped on him when he fell down aside and got up. "I'm not playing games with you. What are you talking about?"

"I want to know who's this Pansy-"

"She's a friend!"

"Right."

Draco glared as he walked around to face him. "You're getting mad over nothing."

"Why should I be mad?!" Harry snarled. "Her place only cost nine thousand, while you bought me a ten thousand dollar worth of a flat! I see absolutely no reason to be mad over!"

"What?! That was her own flat!"

"And it still doesn't explain the one million," he spat.

"Alright, you want to know? I'm borrowing money from her, one million. That's why I'm meeting her tomorrow! Is that a good enough answer for you? I've been disowned and I need one million!" Draco shouted at him, his face beet red with anger as Harry flinched several times and took a step back.

"You've been disowned?"

"You think that my father would still want me after he caught us? Harry, just where were you?"

"Why do you need a million?"

"Because I'm going to kill Riddle," Draco responded straightforwardly.

Harry stared at him. "What? Why?"

"Because I know where he is now! And because he's a wanted man! I know where his hideout is, so why shouldn't I tak advantage of that and attack him? Don't you know how much trouble he had caused for Malfoy Inc. lately?!"

"But you're disowned! You're not making any sense! He has nothing to do with you nor with me anymore!" the brunette said, spun around on his heels and started to leave. "I don't get this."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to stop it," the boy snapped.

Draco flinched and thought about the timing. Blaise was attacking today. "No you're not! You want to get killed?"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"No!" the blond rushed forward like the wind, pushing him onto the carpeted floor and straddled Harry down. "This isn't about you. Keep out of this!" Harry squirmed under his weight, and slowly relaxed, glaring up at him through eyes that was covered in a layer of harden hatred, while other emotions swirled underneath that.

"Why don't you just go and keep Pansy safe!?" Harry screamed and pushed him away.

"Is that it?! Harry I told you that-"

_Wham! _For the second time that day, a fist came in contact with his face. Harry got up and left. Draco's nose started to bleed again.


	23. Chapter 23

His legs begged for him to stop running. His lung burned of fire hotter than those on Sun. And his mind, one half racing around in panic, the other half screaming. Screaming to him that he didn't know what he was doing. Screaming to him that this had nothing to do with him. Screaming that he was the one who was not making any sense.

But what ever possessed him, he did not stop nor slow down as he brushed pass the roaming street people, heading for number fifteen of Henry. Because he felt like it was his fault.

_Told you that I'm not making any sense._

It was not his fault, he knew. And he just might convince himself to stop and turn around- if he would stop and think about it.

_But it feels like my fault. If Draco had never met me, then he would have never met Tom. Draco wouldn't have found out about the hideout and such thing as ridiculous and as pointless as this would have never occurred. __Those people don't deserve this. It doesn't matter how they are. Setting one gang against another is using humans. Draco hired another gang, using them against Tom's. A regular assassin would not have demanded a million._

"Hey watch it!" a man that he had bumped into shouted at him as he pushed and sped down the sidewalk, blindly running across roads and hearing the honking of several cars as he did so. _Henry, Henry, fifteen Henry. Turn left. No, turn right_. He spun his body to the right as he reached a corner, and stopped right away. Fifteen Henry was half a block down. He saw a man disappearing into the doorway, bearing a small grin on his face.

Harry stared with confusion and paused there panting before walking down and stopping by the doorway.

He heard laughter of the front desk woman and the man from inside number fifteen. Getting even more confused. There were no screaming nor shouting, no sounds evidencing an attack going on in there. A sound of a door being opened. The so-called storage room.

This was a prank of Draco? Harry sighed furiously and ran a hand through his hair. No, a million can't be a prank unless Draco was just plain stupid. He wouldn't joke about a million. Five minutes later, still no sound. Harry shrugged his shoulder and walked off slowly back to the corner of the street and turned onto an avenue. He did not notice a black Cadillac pulling up as he left...

A million couldn't be a joke because Draco wasn't that dumb. Or was he? Harry wandered around the streets and turned onto Seventh Avenue. His brain felt like jelly and he didn't want to go back to the flat as he thought about the punch he had placed on Draco's nose. _But_, he thought as his lips sealed_. If this was all a joke, then he deserved that punch. And let's not forget Pansy_.

His fist tightened as he thought of that name, rage ran through his blood.

_"She's a friend_."

A friend? Yeah right, Harry snorted. He averted his sight to the ground as he walked, not paying any attention to where he was going at all.

"Watch it," someone grunted in a deep, low voice.

"Sorry sir," Harry muttered and shook his head. A hand suddenly picked him up by the collar and he jumped. "I'm sorry!" he yelped.

The man glared at him through beady, dark eyes that reminded Harry too much of a shark he had saw in a picture in school. Dull and unintelligent, with a glint of bloodthirst behind all of that. He stiffened with fear immediately as the man let out a low growl.

"Let go of the boy Goyle," a new voice snapped. Harry tried to turned around to see who it was, only to be dropped and landed on his butt. Wincing, he rubbed his arm and looked up. Eight feet stomped the ground like giants. The brunette froze instantly and kept a still face as the four humongous men walked on.

They talked amongst themselves in low muttering voices that Harry could not make a word out of, all wearing baggy pants and ragged clothing with one thick and puffy jacket that could pass for a winter coat, though Harry was pretty sure that it was a jacket. They turned ninety degrees angle a few decent yards before the corner. There was a gate.

The first man pulled out a key out of his pocket- a homemade one at that, Harry noted- and lend down, probably to put it into whatever lock that was there.

The gate would lead to an alleyway.

Harry suddenly remembered that man laughing, the one with the small little grin. The four brutes looked around and stepped inside the alleyway.

The alleyway would lead to a back door.

Their jackets were puffy, puffy enough to hid whatever they might want to hid.

The back door of Tom Riddle's speakeasy.

Harry quickly got up from the ground.

* * *

As soon as Lucius stepped into this... place. Place it was, since the Malfoy had no other name for such vile and disgusting scenery, he decided. A screechy voice immediately greeted his presence, piercing his ear like the crying of a hawk would. He quickly whipped his head around to face a woman with yellow teeth.

"I'm here to see the person that resides at this address," he said coldly as the hag giggled and batted her non-existing eyelashes at him. He frowned. "I said that I'm here to see the person that resides at this address."

"Why, I'm that person sir. Any reason why you're here?" she smiled at him suggestively. Lucius flared his nostril with repulse as he glanced around the room once more, his frown growing even bigger. Diggory couldn't be wrong about this could he? Maybe this woman's husband kidnapped Narcissa- No, not kidnap. Narcissa had ran to here, not forced to.

"I'm here to see Narcissa," he said.

"No one by that name sir," she slurred. "But if you want me to be a Narcissa, then I'll be."

"I'm not interested, you fucking whore!" he snarled and pushed her hand away. The woman flinched, her flirtatious expression faltered for a second. Lucius glared fiercely at her, the corner of his eyes showed a door labelled "storage room" to his right. He turned his head, his eyes hesitated at it.

"You're interested in our products sir? We've got some lovely ruby necklace exchanged from a lady from Spain just this morning," the woman said, suddenly stood up straight, yet still retaining that (disgusting) look on her face as she checked him up and down. Her breath sharpened.

Lucius paid no heed, and nodded to the door. "Storage room huh?"

"Wh- why, yes sir," she answered. "Maybe a diamond ring or a silver one. I've got a quite lovely engagement ring here. Or perhaps you want to exchange some of your own goods for money. We're willing to pay whatever price."

"Who do you work for?" he demanded.

The woman smiled Mona Lisa-liked, though not in a pretty way. "I cannot tell."

Lucius looked at her for a moment, leaned back, and pushed at the door. It was locked.

"If you would like to go in there, sir, you must tell me why," she said, her tone suddenly grew icy cold and her eyes held a dangerous sparkle that had frightened Lucius for just a moment. The Malfoy stiffened.

"Where is my wife?" he snarled.

"I'm right here," she said jokingly.

"Where is my wife!? Where is Narcissa!?" This time, he shouted, his face turning red with anger as she challenged his glared.

"Here I am," she said again. Instinctively, Lucius hand shot out and slapped her. The woman stumbled backwards, holding her redden left cheek as he stood there with his fists clenched. "Where is she you bitch?!"

"Here-"

"Don't play with me! Do you know who I am? I'm sure you do; my wife was here and I know she's still here. Now tell me where is she!" he roared. She stood up and gazed at him with pure fear and suddenly rushed to her right, closing the door and locking it quickly. Lucius advanced closer with his fist raised and ready.

And a click was heard.

"He's here!" she screamed, never keeping her eyes off Lucius with the gun pointing at his head. "Lucius Malfoy!"

A shot rang out, blowing the lock off the door that was labelled "storage room." Several armed men came out, carrying pistols ready in their hands, eyes him with glee. Lucius froze, his fingers tingled. He had no weapons with him. He should have bought something with him. And maybe this was all a mistake.

Maybe Diggory had made an error on the address. Lucius squeezed his eyes shut and made a mental note to give the detective a piece of his mind once he got out of there. One of the men out his gun back into his belt and walked towards him, smirking, fist raised. A blow came for his face and he staggered, landing on the door. The woman kept her gun pointing to him

"This is a welcome from the boss." That man only have one arm. "You might not remember him. But he told me to say to you that he's very glad to see you after all these years." The Malfoy winced at the pain before opening his eyes once again. This time, there was a chair in front of him.

One more man came out, carrying Narcissa.

"Narci-" A hand covered his mouth, muffling the sound.

"Shh, she's resting," the one-arm man whispered and grinned a hideous grin. "You won't want to disturb Lady Malfoy's beauty sleep now would you?"

"What have you done to her?" he shouted.

"Oh nothing. She was just drugged."

"You motherfu-"

"Beware of who's life is on line, money-bag," the one-arm man snapped. "Sally's gun is loaded, might you know. The bullet is powerful enough to blow your entire head off."

Lucius closed his mouth and tremblingly turned his head towards his wife. He suddenly felt an urge to giggle and bite his lips as he rethought the man's words. If this was any other situation, Lucius might have laughed out loud. Sally? _Sally!_ A woman named _Sally_ can handle a gun. If he moved, a woman named _Sally_ would kill him. He had always thought that he might died by an infamous assassin while visiting a foreign country, or possible if he was lucky enough, a natural death of old age or a disease.

But Lucius Malfoy, the multi-millionaire and owner/president of one of the world's most famous company was going to be killed by a woman named Sally!

In fact, he did laughed. Inwardly. The idea seemed so ridiculous to him.

"Of course, it only natural that you're curious of who our boss is," One Arm went on. "Sally, keep the gun ready. I'll go in and see-"

"Stop pointing it at his head," a new voice said from inside the supposed storage room. Lucius immediately spun around to catch the sight of the speaker. A brown-eyed man with flat nose met his own pair of grays. The man's pale skin was saggy, and the man was probably around his sixties. It has been twenty-two years since the last time he had seen Tom Riddle. Almost all features of that handsome man in his thirties had fade out, replacing by a face worthy of a prune.

"Riddle," he said coldly as memories of what happened flashed back to him. One of the men that he had assigned Diggory and Finnigan for immediate assassination.

_"I solved two cases in one."_

"How are you lately Mr. Malfoy," Riddle begin calmly, more as a statement than a question as he signaled his henchmen to back off. "Sally, I said to stop pointing that gun at his head."

"But sir-" He gave her a look.

"I'm fine," Lucius replied shortly.

"Ah yes, I'm also fine. Fine as ever," Riddle said as if they were two friends having a normal, decent conversation.

"What have you done with her? What do you _want _with her?" Lucius demanded immediately. "It's been over twenty years."

"And what a long twenty-two- let's not forget to two, because two is very important. Yes, the number two is important. Some people discard it as an insignificant number that can't be compete with the number one, but really People should take notice of it. You have no idea-"

"Let her go," Lucius interrupted.

"Of course, I'll let her go sooner or later- I have to," he said.

"I'm not here to play tea party with you Riddle. I'm here to get my wife home."

"Faithful wife," Riddle said dryly, watching with an amused smirk as Lucius' nostrils flared again. The elder man motioned something with his hand, and a bottle of Magnolia wine was immediately brought to his side along with two expensive looking china cups. He popped the bottle opened, set the cups onto the floor and poured them to the fullest. Wine spilled out when he missed.

"Have a drink and let's talk," Riddle encouraged. "We had not had a decent talk-"

"We've never had a decent talk," Lucius snapped.

The elder man chuckled. "Like father, like son," he said with a shake of his head. "But thank the god that it doesn't go for all cases; I'm nothing like my father." He picked his cup up from the floor- proceed in spilling half of drink- and gulped the wine down. "You're not touching your drink. No appreciation for hospitality? Why, I thought that Malfoys were raised with manners."

"Towards respectable people," the Malfoy retorted.

Riddle laughed again. "And you don't consider me a man worthy of your respect?"

"No."

Lucius bite his own tongue from another insult as he watched Riddle took his cup and drank the wine in it before laughing again. His eyes averted to the sleeping Narcissa, who was placed on the chairs. A sigh of anger welled itself up in him and he kept it down, letting out the breath little by little every second.

His wife ran away from him for Riddle? Tom Riddle? The person who was supposibly responsible for the death of so many and the tragic of another number no less than the death? The one who had... ruined... he shivered with anger at the thought of that day.

_Of course, I'm dumb to not to see it coming. They had a history. And when Riddle finally got out of jail, it's only natural for her to run back to him. This "Jack"._

"How long has this been going on?" he whispered harshly.

"Since your son was born. What was that boy's name? Draco? Yes, that's his name isn't it. He looked like you, very much like you. Only younger, and well, more of a womanish appearance than that of a proper strong-armed man. Very lean," Riddle described.

Lucius folded his hands together to keep them from forming fists. The hypothesis of how Riddle had know Draco settled in his mind; his son joining league with that monster, making deals, doing unlawful things. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, deciding to get that answer later.

"Are we just going to sit here and talk?"

"Maybe. But we aren't exactly talking, since I'm the one who's doing all of the work in this conversation, and we still haven't picked a proper topic to speak of yet," the elder man said. pushing the bottle aside. "Water," he commanded. "And coffee for Mr. Malfoy here." Riddle looked back to him. "Cissy talks about you a lot you know?"

_I know? No, I don't know,_ Lucius wanted to snap.

"Her 'glorious' knight in shining armor," the elder man said with amusement. "Her prince who rode a white horse and will one day rescue her from distress. Her perfect man from a fairy tale."

"She thinks that highly of me?" the Malfoy sneered as a cup of coffee were set beside his with a slam. He jumped at the sound and pushed the cup away as if it was something poisonous. Riddle motioned his hands again and the henchmen filtered out of the room, standing outside by the door way.

Riddle smirked at him. "Too bad. She's not a princess. She was never a princess and never meant to be one, not mattering her birth. Born with a golden spoon in her mouth, indeed. Don't you know that she hates gold spoons? No, she was never a princess."

"I never said she was," he snapped with impatience as he gripped the cup.

"No," Riddle continued, ignoring the interruption. "She was Jill."

Lucius scoffed out loud and harden his smirk. "You're not talking any sense at all. What Jill? Duchess Jill? Countess Jill?" The elder man burst into laughters again. The young grounded his teeth with annoyance at that sound. "If you're implying that she was a normal person, then you're wrong. Narcissa was never normal."

"I never said that she was normal," Riddle said. "I said that she was a Jill."

"You're getting no where."

"I'm a Jack, she's a Jill... Sounded familiar yet?"

A tingle ran down his spine as Riddle cocked his head. "No," he snapped. The tingle grew stronger. Riddle looked up.

"Jack and Jill..." he began, his voice a little musical.

"_Jack and Jill went up the hill_

_To fetch a pail of water_

_Jack fell down and broke his crown..."_

Silence replaced the last line of the children nursery rhyme. Lucius' fist clenched at nothing, growing into a tighter and tighter ball until he thought he thought he might crush his own fingers. "Stop talking trash and stop wasting my time!" he shouted, standing up, towering over Riddle who only glanced up at him with an unusually calm face of boredom.

"Jill follows Jack. Jill had always followed-"

"You're not a Jack and she's not a Jill!!! Don't think that by using a nursery rhyme as your little theme song that you could persuade me of what so ever. I know what you want! It's Malfoy Inc isn't it!? You're holding my wife hostage!"

Riddle's smirk transformed into a satisfying smile. "Miss the Jackpot by a millimeter, Mr. Malfoy."

"You fucking lowly son of a bitch!"

"From my knowledge, if you sell Malfoy Inc to- let's say, Rockerfeller? Or perhaps the Guggenheim family? It's bring you a nice little sum. I won't even need your bank account's money," Riddle offered. "I am fifty-seven years old and ready for retirement from the outside world. A fund would be nice."

Lucius punched him.

"Keep on dreaming you bastard," he snarled. "How dare you use me like this!"

The henchmen backed off as Riddle held up his left hand, his right hand holding his cheek.

"The as daring as I had used your wife," the elder man mocked. "What can I say? You two deserve each other. Both are honest, down to Earth idiots without a functioning brain."

"Don't you even love her!?"

Riddle laughed again and Lucius' eyes widened with indescribable rage as his laughter echoed around the room. "Oh, I did. But that was a long time ago."

The Malfoy was about to lung over, intention was to strangle him after hearing that. Riddle dodged it quickly, causing him to fall onto the floor. Lucius got up and glared at him with pure hatred with fists held high, ready to land another blow when a gunshot fired out. One of Riddle's men fell to the ground, catching the attention of all. A battle cry rang his ears suddenly, making him froze. The cry was followed by another gun fire.

_What's going on?_

"What the fuck is going on??!!!" Riddle shouted to his men. Screaming of people inside the illegal bar pierced his eardrum as the elder man spun around in panic, shouting orders. Seizing this chance, Lucius rushed over to his wife's side, gently slapping her pale cheek.

"Narcissa," he whispered frantically as he turned around and caught sight of what was happening inside. Four brutes of men jumping around the tables, destroying everything in sight, each holding two pistols that shot at whatever that was moving below. Lucius' eyes widen with confusion and fear. "What the..."

An Italian man stood alone in a corner, inconspicuous by the others, holding what looked like a pack of bomb and a matchbox.

"No, Narcissa!"

"Get away from her!" someone-Riddle- roughly shoved him aside, slamming him against a wall. Lucius cried out at the impact that formed when his skull hit the concrete.

"Potter!" someone suddenly shouted, drawing the attention away from him.

"What?!" Riddle snarled and ran back inside.

Lucius crawled over to his wife and shook her. "Narcissa, wake up. Narcissa." She stirred faintly in his arms. Lucius looked up once again at the scenery of chaos in that room. Several gunshots fired out with screaming of rage. A flash of messy hair caught his eyes and he unexpectedly gasped. That Harry boy.

They stopped and stared.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Harry gasped. "What are you doing here."

Lucius watched him in shock, mouth gaping. "What-"

But the boy was already off running. He turned his focus back to his wife, shaking her shoulder, whispering loudly. How could she not wake up in this noise?!

"Narcissa!" he hissed.

She groaned. Her eyelids opened a millimeter as she did so. "Lucius?" she breathed his name in more of a question than an statement. Her eyes closed and she shivered. They opened again, this time to the full. Her mouth opened to say something, but only another surge of cough came out.

"Tom he's planning-"

"Come on, I'll get you to the hospital," the man said, wrapping his arms around her to lift her up.

"No!" she said, nearly screaming as her body flapped like a fish out of water. Her voice croaked and her face turned and bit green. Within seconds, she turned to her side and pushed her husband away, throwing up onto the floor. Lucius bite down a wince at the smell that invaded the room after that.

She let out sobs as her stomach lured again and again. He hand her a cup a water when nothing came out and she took a gulp and rinsed her mouth and held the water in her mouth for a moment. She quickly found a garbage can by the desk and spat out the water, coughing and choking.

"The company," she said in a pant as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "He's after it. He want you to sell-"

"I know," Lucius interrupted.

"Don't-"

"I won't."

She was skinnier, he noted as she walked towards the entrance of the so-called storage room, silently gasping. Her walk was almost like a flower's- if flowers could walk. "What's going on?" she didn't bother to wait for him to answer. "Tom, where's Tom?"

Lucius ran by her side and grabbed her hand. "What?"

"He's gone." She was right.

"Come on, this is none of our business anymore," he decided, dragging her away. Narcissa's eyes, however, never left the doorway as she followed him.

"Harry!" This time, both Malfoy's head turned fully back to the doorway.

Lucius froze.

Narcissa was already on it. She rushed forward, jerking herself out of his grasp.

"No!!!"

"Draco!!!" she screamed her son's name as she attempted to barge into the room. Brushing past people. A bullet missed her by an inch. She finally stop. A table was pushed her way, hitting her.

Lucius cried out and ran inside and quickly picked her up. On her forehead was a huge gush.

"Mother??!" his son's voice called out with surprise. He didn't bother to look up. "Father?!"

"Go away!" he snapped at his son as he carried her out, avoiding attacks as best as possible and settled onto the chair. He then proceed in trying to open the locked door that will lead to the outside. No luck, the door won't budge. Looking around frantically, he spot a gun lying on the floor. Lucius picked it up and took a aim. The lock burst and the door swung a little.

He picked up his wife and opened the rest with his feet, and hurried outside. It was dark, probably around seven. The locating of his car was easy, and soon, he got behind the wheel with the engine started. The local hospital was near.

Sirens of police cars drew closer as he drove away.


	24. Chapter 24

The water was freezing cold when it touched his fingers, which numbed instantly. The water washed away the blood from his hand, making the clear, colorless liquid pink. With the washed hand, Draco took some tissue from beside the sink and wet it before quickly pressing it to his nose. He can hear his own panting as he breathed the air through his mouth. The mirror drew his view away from the sink. Two watered gray eyes met his at the precise moment.

He was crying.

"Why am I crying?" His voice sounded like a croaking frog. "There's nothing to cry over about. I can't go after him- I have a bloody nose!"

He took out some more tissue and repeated what he had done before.

"I didn't do anything wrong," he declared stubbornly. "Tom Riddle needs to die and if nobody is willing to take a shot at it, then so it be me." Draco frowned for a moment, and debated inside his mind a random, pointless debate about whether or not the last sentence made any sense. Probably not, but who was to make sense then?

He wiped the last of the blood away and checked with some more damp tissue to see if his nose was still bleeding. It was not. Draco bend down slowly and picked up his jacket from the floor. It was dirty, and possible with bloodstains on it, but he didn't care. He put it on, not even facing the mirror.

Harry had gone for about ten minutes. Getting to Henry Street might took about twenty. Blaise and his men was suppose to be there now. If he can stop Harry... _if._

_Stop doubting! _he screamed to himself with frustration. _Since when did you started to doubt? You've never doubt before. Since when did the opinion of another valued to you that much!!??_

_Since the person himself valued to me._

* * *

Harry stopped around the corner and pressed himself against the wall, listening to the four giants of men debating back and forth about how to break down the door to the illegal pub. A sweat drop ran down from his forehead to his chin, dripping there for a single moment before decided to drop. His mouth was opened, sucking in the air and his lips were crackled. His tongue was as dry as a desert.

In some ways, this was sort of exciting to him, like being one of those actors he saw in a theater once about a mystery play. The detective had pressed himself against a "wall" listening to the "criminals" talking. He was only eight then. The play probably would seem lame to him now, but it was so real and exciting to him before.

Except those men right here were not stealing anything.

The guns were real.

This was real.

And he was going to die if he got caught.

"The lock won't fit," the smallest one- by comparison with the others- hissed with frustration as he attempted to jam the homemade key inside the keyhole. Another grumbled something unintelligent.

"Shut-up Crabbe," the smallest one snarled. "I don't need your advice... No I don't have another key!"

_With their size, why can't they just kick the door down?_

Another feeble attempt was made by the Smallest, in which resulted the key to bend. The key, Harry saw from this distance, was made out of those thin wires that could be bend easily.

"Perhaps we should knock," another one said to the Smallest.

"Idiot! You don't knock!" Smallest whispered furiously. Harry swallowed his giggling at the amusing scene, shaking his head at the event, thinking what in the world had made Draco hired such stupid people for a million to do a job that an assassin would do for not even a quarter of that amount_. Maybe he is an idiot_.

The third man stepped forward- the brunette recognized him as Goyle, the guy who had picked him off the ground before. Without consulting his leader, the giant gave the door a kick... And it swung opened.

The smile fell from Harry's face immediately at the shown strength, the hush from the pub inside barely penetrated his mind. Nobody said a single word as one of the four raised his gun and took a shot. A sound so loud that it knocked Harry off his feet. It was nothing like the BB guns that Mr. Weasley used when he was out hunting, nothing like the guns that the gangsters from the Jewelry Shop used.

Maybe it was because he was so close. And the gun was more powerful. Someone inside screamed half a second later, and all chaos broke lose.

Harry watched with a silent gasp as the four charged in, howling like mad men. Where was Riddle? Why wasn't Riddle with his people? _And why am I here! I don't belong here! I should run! Run away! Run away!_

The message from his mind never got to his legs; he stood there, frozen stiff at his current spot, watching as Goyle- he was sure that it was Golye- lifted a chair from the ground and smashed it violently onto a man's head. Somebody took an aim, and hit another person.

Harry remember reading a story book like that once. His mother had not like that book when he brought it home from Ron's house; it had once belonged to Ron's older brother Charlie. The violence, the things that one human would do to another and the vivid way that book had described it was exactly what was happening here right in front of his eyes.

He forgot the title of the book, nor did he remember the author. Lily had only allowed him to read it once, and the next morning when he tried to read his favorite parts again, Lily had taken it right from his hands and had marched him over to the Weasley's house, lecturing a shocked Mrs. Weasley about the bad influence that Ron was causing on her son.

In the book, the hero was in that fight where he was one of the members of the gang. And his group was assigned to attack an important and super secret government meeting to assassin a senator, who had been opposing the man who hired the gang. The senator, surprisingly was the hero's long-lost uncle, his loving uncle who gave him the best birthday presents every single year till his thirteenth birthday, when he had mysteriously disappeared from his life. The one who saved his mother from losing her estates when her husband died. Between family and comrade royalties, the young man had to pick one.

Harry smiled as the reality fade from his eyes as he remembered his mother scolding him about the book when he had tried to explain what it was about and how wonderful it was, giving her a simple summary. The redhead woman had scoffed and called it a silly tale that was not suit for innocence. She never really appreciated violence actions or anything bloody at all, which is why she hated chickens because she had to slaughter them.

Funny how she had died.

Back to the story again, Harry remembered that the hero's comrades had tied all of the government officials up, some were killed and some were knocked unconscious. Hero spoke to his uncle. It was a long conversation, and because he was never a patience reader, Harry had skipped over most of it.

The next part Harry remembered. It was his favorite part of the book, even though he had thought that action of the hero to be cowardice and not heroic at all. But it was the best decision, it was the decision that was right.

Harry was no hero and he had nothing to do with this. But he ran for it anyway, plunging into the pool of his death.

* * *

The door was already opened when he got there. Draco muttered a thank to the heaven that Henry was located in the less populated part of the city; many crumbled down building lay waste there, abandoned. He saw a family of three kids and parents lying against a wall, the mother seemed to be sleeping while the kids cried.

Draco could feel himself stiffen at the sight, and stopped himself from stopping. No time for pity. It certainly wasn't his job to help the poor.

If he had slowed down, he would have given a thought about how selfish his attitude and feelings were. But only a tiny reminder flashed through his mind as a faint scream rang through the air from Henry.

The back door led to an entrance out into Seventh. He spun on his heels and headed for the Seventh Avenue. The sun was setting already, Draco noted, knowing that the third police patrol of the day would come around eight O'clock. On their break time, cops wouldn't care if danger was right under their noses. They did what they had to do to keep their jobs, showing themselves to be worth the money of the government.

The gate was already opened, its door swung from side to side in a gentle manner. Chippy white paint dug into Draco's palm, quickly crackled to the ground as he held it by the handle and pushed it more wider to let himself fully in without having to brush against the walls. Gun shots boomed like a rock against a drum, one fire after another. The Malfoy's hand went to his own little pistol that he had hidden in his inside pocket, knowing just how little damage it could do compare to guns that can sound like that.

"Potter!!!" someone shouted, catching Draco's immediate attention. He ran at that name like the wind, brushing past the weeds that grew on the ground, heading straight for the opened back door and plowed into the fight.

"Harry!!" he screamed loudly, eyes scanning around frantically for his young lover. Where was he? His eyes landed on Blaise instead, who gave him the smallest devil grin, standing by the wall from the fight. The Zabini was carrying a package of bombs.

Fire power.

Didn't matter, where-

"DRACO!!!" For a split second, Draco stood there, numbed from head to toe at that familiar voice that he hadn't heard in weeks. And then he quickly picked up a chair instinctively, shoving it at someone who was running towards him. His thought were a mess and his eyes blurred. Everything echoed around him like it was all an illusion and was slowly wavering.

He saw a big square table heading towards Narcissa, the images transmitted from his eyes to his mind, playing them slowly.

The table was wooden, big, square with sharp edges. It hit her on her hips. pushing her back. She stumbled, coincidentally dodging a bullet that whizzed past her. Her forehead hit on an edge and she fell. Fell like someone had took a scissor and cut an flower by the stem.

She was so thin...

"Mother?!" he shouted, running towards her, but then stopped. "Father?!"

_What? What are they doing here? How did they get into this!!!?? _All sort of questions rose in his mind like bubbles, one after another, so much that he couldn't even count them if he had the time to.

"Go away!" Lucius simply shouted back at him, carrying his mother away.

Draco wanted to ask his questions, he tried to open his mouth, but nothing came out. Two macho wrestlers rolled in his way, punching each other's mouth in and blocking his path. He backed off and shook his head, confusion fully dawned. The world faded.

It was one thing that Harry was involve in this, but why were they here? Why was his mother so thin. And the way that his father's hair was so messy. And- Harry. Where was Harry??!!!

Everything cleared off his mind right now as he focused on the one solo thing. Sounds resumed back on to play. Screaming pierced his ears like they had before as he pushed and shoved people out of his way, heading for the back where the cage use to be. A hand landed on his shoulder and he spun around in panic, his own hand reaching inside his jacket for the pistol.

It was Blaise.

"Fifteen minutes," the Italian man simply said with a smirk. "Riddle's still here. Get out in fifteen minutes." The bomb package that he had in his arms before was gone. A faint, so faint, smell of smoke from fire reached his nose, telling him that the bomb was near by somewhere. He merely nodded, inwardly very shakily. The Zabini's smirk widened. "I might as well have some fun of my own here."

"Do," Draco sputtered, not knowing what else to say as he left.

In his last school- a military academy, Draco had won several class awards as the best "spotter" of the entire class of fifty boys, in addition to the second-best combat dueler. He can specify and find things, clues better and quicker than anyone. He had took a good look at the cage when Harry was talking to Riddle, and the time when he was there to take out Porkchop. There was a hidden door right at the back, blended in with the walls with no handles. The distance from the cage and the wall made the entrance seemed impenetrable if the door was spotted.

It was only a three-quarter foot distance between the wall and the cage. Anyone could easily get in there.

Draco dug his fingernails into the frame of the door and pulled, pain shot through his fingers as pieces of the wood prickled his skin. He winced, knowing how much it was going to hurt later and how hard it will be to get the needle-sharp pieces of the wood out. The edge of the tiny door banged against the cage as it flew open. Draco stepped in.

Arms wrapped themselves around his neck, choking the air out of his lung so suddenly as he went down the first step. He stumbled with the other person, struggling and thrashing wildly as a hand covered his mouth. They both landed onto the hard wooden floor, those arms still around Draco's neck. Weak arms, small hands of a pre-matured boy. The hand was not the hand of Riddle.

"Harry," he said, though muffled. The hand softened and the arms lost its grip. The familiar chest pressed onto his back calmed him down a little.

"Draco?" Harry whispered as the blond turned around abruptly and sat up, heart pounding like mad.

"What the fuck are you doing here you moron," he hissed at the young boy, who also got up and glared.

"Why did you followed me?" Harry questioned back with matching rage. "Nobody told you-"

"I don't need anyone to tell me what to do!"

They looked at each other with harden glassy eyes for a moment, then simultaneously lowered them. "Harry," Draco started. "There's a bomb. It's going off in about fifteen minutes." He stopped. "Make that ten."

Harry said nothing.

"Come on, let's get out of here," the blond urged, gripping him by the wrist.

"I called the police."

The tugging stopped. "What did you do?"

"I called the police. There's a phone in there, so I used it to call the police. They're coming this way right now," Harry explained.

The Malfoy stared at him with a stunned expression. "You didn't," he said in a whisper, still not believing what he had heard.

"I did," Harry answered in a stoic voice.

Draco collapsed slowly onto the floor, a tingle of shock ran up his spine and he stiffened. Thought of possibilities whirled around his mind at what the police would and could do. "Blaise can't be arrested, his men would never forgive me," he finally said. What Blaise's followers would do were unpredictable enough already. But getting their leader arrested? Not good, not good at all.

All in while, Harry stared at Draco with anger. "Oh What?! You're worrying about a criminal??"

"I'm worrying about us!"

"I'm staying here and I'm going to explain to the police just what exactly is going on!" the brunette answered stubbornly. "Don't you understand that this is crazy? I don't know what the fight is for- if it's even for anything! But I'm going to turn them in, you can't stop me!"

"YOU'RE BEING STUPID!!!" Draco roared. Harry flinched at him tone of voice, his hands forming fist as his bottom lips trembled. The blond gulped. "Come on babe, let's go home." Harry did not move. Draco sighed. "What do you want me to-"

"What I want you both to do is to put your hands up in the air," a low voice hissed dangerously like an angry snake. Two clicks was heard as they both turned around, with Harry's hands up in the air and Draco reaching for the pistol.

Tom Riddle came closer. No longer was his face showing a fake, pleasant, and calm expression like it had always before. Madness glinted within his eyes as he held a gun in his hand, pointing it directly at them. Draco looked at the size of it, knowing just how powerful that the bullets would be and pulled his hand away from his pocket.

Riddle sneered. "Potter Junior and Malfoy Junior," he spat with distant, glancing back and forth between his two victims. "Who would have thought?"

"There's a bomb out there," Draco said immediately. "It would be going off soon. So it wouldn't matter if you kill us; we'll all die sooner or later."

Riddle's eyes turned to him, two frozen brown orbs glimmered with sparks of rage. "You think that I've never handle bombs before, Mr. Malfoy?" Draco said nothing. "Zabini underestimated me too much; I didn't come to dominate the eastern coast by being an idiot. Did you two took me for one? I must say, I'm greatly insulted.

"Of course, I stopped it. Cheap bombs he bought. Zabini has always been a cheapskate, even more than your father," Riddle snarled.

"Your left hand is burned," Harry observed.

Riddle pursed his lips.

"I called the police," Harry continued. "Even if you could escape the bomb you can't escape them. So it really didn't matter."

"What happened to me is none of your business!" the eldest man shouted. "Another one of you! Another one of you who think it's fun to play with me?! You think you're so clever! You know what Potter? Everything I see you, I want to kill you! Behind my eyelids and stuck in my mind! You're the one who ruined everything for me! You ruined _me_!!! You ruined me sixteen years ago and I've worked so hard rebuilding everything!!! Well I won't let you do it to me again." Harry backed off as Riddle came closer. "You're dead this time, James. You're dead- AHHHH!!"

"Harry run!!" Draco shouted, pinning a madden Riddle down onto the floor, digging his knees into the other man's back.

Riddle's eyes rolled over as he stared up into Draco's face. A new anger for another person build up as Draco glared back.

"Lucius," Riddle hissed. The Malfoy did not bother to listen. "You too Lucius. You took her from me. She was mine..."

Draco clasped his wrists down.

"Draco, the police sirens are coming closer. I can't get outside," Harry whispered. "Everybody is going crazy."

"I'll kill you too!!!" Riddle screamed, his face lost all expression of humanity as he thrashed wildly and gutted Draco in the stomach. The Malfoy stumbled back in horror as the elder man snatched a knife of from an opened low cabinet by the wall.

Harry gasped and charged forward. His hands reached out and pushed Riddle just as the knife struck down. Blood spattered on his face as Draco screamed.

_No, no, no, no, no..._

His mind went completely blank as his hand moved on its own, snatching up the gun that Riddle had dropped when Draco had pinned him down. The monster's insane laughter echoed in his mind loudly, too loud to be a dream, too surreal to be reality. The aim before was for Draco's heart. He aimed blindly for IT. For IT's heart. Riddle staggered as he attempted to move forward to Harry. The blow missed his heart, and got his head instead.

Riddle stopped, his laughter not longer existing. His eyes blood-shot and his lips stretched wide in a lunatic grin, and fell.

The gun fell from Harry's hands, landing with a loud _bam_ onto the floor. Riddle's brain- or whatever it was- spilled out onto the floor like coffee thickened with cream. He wanted to throw up.

"Harry." His name was barely spoken with a sigh. "Help me."

Harry snapped back, attention all on the origin of that voice. He tried to speak, only to manage a feeble whimper.

"He got my shoulder. The knife is stuck there. I can't move my left arm," Draco said. Harry watched his blood-circled mouth moved. "Harry, are you there?"

The siren rang wildly in his ears, indicating that the cops had arrived. People outside screamed.

"Harry?"

He had killed Riddle. The police was here. Tremblingly, he lifted Draco up to sitting position.

"Let's go."

"There's no where to go," he answered. No reply was given.

If he went outside, he and Draco could easily be arrested right there. Yet, if the police found this place, they could also be arrested, seeing the dead man that had his head blown off. They might get arrested later if Zabini- Zabini right?- turned them in. It was best to stay in here and hope nothing happened.

_But Draco was losing blood._

* * *

A little forewarning for next chappie: something really different. I mean really.

More warnings later. I don't want to give away anything. Drop a comment please! :)


	25. Chapter 25: Turn In Time

At the end of the last chapter, I told you that this chapter will be something different. Well here's what; this isn't an actual chapter in the story, this is a flashback, which is why it's titled _Turn in Time_. It's a back in time in Riddle's days. Unlike the last version that Riddle described, this is the truth, only the truth, and nothing but the truth.

Except it never really happened because this is a fan fiction.

I don't know why I want to write this, I just do. But the real story will resume next chapter. Many apologies.

**WARNINGS**: Graphic violence and abuse; do NOT read if SQUEAMISH. Mentions of sex. Slash. If you can't take anything REALLY outrageous and gross and inhuman (torture-wise), then please, _please_ I beg you, DON'T READ THIS CHAPTER!!!! IT'S FOR YOUR OWN GOOD!!!!

**More Notes: **Sirius and Regulus are NOT related to Narcissa in here. Why? It's the way that fits the best.

* * *

**FINAL WARNING!!! IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE HORROR, THEN PLEASE GO AWAY!!!**

When I warn people like this, I'm dead serious.

* * *

It was a cold night in mid-December of 1909. The snow fell from the sky like tiny angels, landing onto the ground with grace, joining its fellow snowflakes. On a quiet street in Greenfields, New York, a lone man wandered, dragging a briefcase behind him as he walked in the heavy snow. The crunching sound made by his boots echoed in the deadly silent night.

Tom's breath made clouds as he turned his head this way and that, trying to locate a place where he could sleep for the night. All taverns were closed for as far as he could see. Several light were lit in houses, but he dare not to knock on the door and ask for shelter, not that anyone would let him in when they saw his condition.

He stopped on a corner and pulled his precious briefcase closer to him, hugging it almost, as if that might give him some sort of warm he had not expected.

He was pure filth as he had not washed in week and had not eaten for two days at the most. His face was unclean with facial hair that needed to be shaved badly; his clothes were tore and tattered, the same ones that he wore exactly two weeks ago when he was just getting out of jail. Tom shifted uncomfortably and glanced around once more for any signs of places that he could stay in.

Nothing.

He will have to sleep on the street again tonight and continue walking in the morning. _If I don't freeze to death by them._

He couldn't die, he won't allow it; the briefcase.

Tom quickly dug a hole in a pile of snow, making his "bed" for the night, settling his belonging a feet away from him. When the hole was finished, his hands were frozen and stiffed. He breathed on them, trying to warm them again, inwardly wincing at the thought of finding frostbites on his fingers and the back of his palms in the morning.

A swift movement, almost like the wind, ran past him. Huffing of another being hit his ears for just a second with the pitting-patting of two feet running in the snow. His briefcase was suddenly gone.

The man got up immediately forcing his tired body up as he caught sight of a figure running away reasonably fast. He didn't think twice, and took off to chase.

He wanted to shout "thief," wanted to bring this robbery to the attention of everyone. But he can't. The people would want to know what was in the briefcase. They would want to look. And if anyone saw the hidden things, they would ask him where he got it. If he couldn't come up with a proper explanation- which he can't- they would throw him into jail all over again.

Tom snarled to himself at that thought. He had spent an entire year in jail for nothing. He was not prepared, nor did he wanted to, spend another year for another nothing.

The boy was fast, he was faster. His arms stretched out as he came close, and pushed with might. Down that little thief fell, face flat onto the snow-covered ground that save his face from bashing in because it was so soft.

Huffing and out of breath, Tom grabbed his briefcase and tugged. "Let go of it," he hissed at the boy, who spun around and gazed up at him with dull, hazel eyes, empty of all emotions. Tom breathed deeply as he glared back, giving his briefcase another tug. The boy held onto it.

"Move you fucking brat," Tom snarled and kicked the thief in the knee. The boy flinched and sniffed loudly as the winter wind blew. Tom stared as he dusted off the snow from his legs and got up slowly, never taking his eyes off Tom's face. "Go away before I call the police."

"You won't," the strange boy confirmed in a voice slight of an Irish accent, giving Tom a clue about his birth land. The man squeezed the handle of the brief case and narrowed his eyes as the boy shivered before continuing. "I know you won't. There's money in there."

"How do you know," Tom growled. "And who are you?"

"My papa always kept his money inside his box. There's always money there," the boy answered, not really answering.

Box, Tom scoffed slightly at that word knowing that showed the limitation of just how little that boy's vocabulary was. "It's a briefcase," he snarled again, snatching it away from the boy's surprisingly strong grip. The boy lunged and grasped the handle firmly.

"Do you have a death wish, brat?" he hissed at the little shrimp, who looked up into his face with a blank expression.

"'Tis mine," he said.

Tom's patience wore thin as he glared hard at the kid, who was standing in front of him challenging him over the right to his belonging. Without a forewarning, Tom swung his briefcase at him. The boy fell to the ground

"I think not," he snarled as the boy coughed and brushed the snow from his face, shivering. With his anger satisfied, he began to walk away.

"Take me in!"

Tom turned around and looked at him, stupefied for a moment before shaking his head with disgust.

"I can make you great," the boy offered again. "You're lonely and you have money. I need food."

"Make me great?" Ton echoed with disbelief. "What are you? A fairy godmother in disguise?"

"You're strong."

"Strong enough to break your little neck," he spat. "I'll be nice to you for a moment; there's a soup kitchen nearby that I just passed. They should be opened by four O'clock in the morning. Go wait out front."

"I can kill," came the statement swiftly after Tom's advice. The man froze and stared at the boy with mistrust. What once was an empty face was now a little smile. He blinked, hesitating. A boy as skinny as this brat could kill? Who was that little liar kidding?

"I killed a man before I came here." His eyes traveled over Tom. "You have money on you. You will want to kill a person." Stated like a pure fact.

Tom stopped breathing for a second, the thought of Lucius flashed through his mind for a while. And Narcissa's parents, the ones who put him in jail a year ago. Maybe... he paused and rethought the sudden idea of killing Narcissa herself. His heart made a slight jump of approval and he felt his lips curled up into an inconspicuous sneer. Yes, they needed to die.

The sneer faded as quickly as it had came to him as he inwardly scolded himself of just how crazy that might be. Killing the four of them? He'd had to be the smartest, luckiest person ever to not get caught. He licked his lips and breathed deeply, letting the cold air wash away the anger that redeveloped within him before letting out a bark of laughter at those words, not even fighting the urge to roll his eyes and rolled them at the boy. "You're a funny little kid."

The boy came closer, his hazel orbs locked with Tom's oak brown ones. He was two heads shorter than Tom, his hair was a wild nest of dark brown, close to black. His bony hands tugged at Tom's thin coat, his little smile disappeared.

"I will kill you. I can take the money." He sounded completely serious.

"You? Against me?"

"I can kill you," he said again.

"I'd like to see you try."

"If I want to."

Tom's eyes hardened and gripped the boy's skinny wrist. "Get away from me, brat. I'll give you five seconds," he growled warningly. "And if you're not out of my face by then, _I'll_ kill _you_. You think I won't? I'm an ex-criminal."

"Me too," the boy said in a monotone. Tom flared his nostrils as he tightened his grip. His captive didn't even look scared. "They threw rocks at me and I ran to the big boat. The boat took me here."

"I'll give you five seconds to run."

And five seconds passed. The boy still stood. Tom clenched his fist with anger as he death glared. The boy still did not move.

He walked away, and the boy followed.

* * *

His name was James Potter. Birthplace, somewhere in Ireland. James was an orphan, his parents died when he was only seven and he had been living with two other orphans his age ever since then. He can't read, nor can he write. Talking? The level of an eight year old. And the brat followed Tom everywhere.

Of course, eventually Tom got use to him, not knowing how he even did that. It was not that James was annoying or loud. In fact, it was quite the opposite; that boy acted like a perfect little angel, never complained nor threw any temper tantrums. He ate everything lay out in front of him and ate with good manners. A sweet boy, if Tom can say so himself. The boy seemed normal, a little too normal. The man had a bad feeling.

_"I can make you great." _James meaningless words kept echoing over and over again in his head. Every time he looked over at him, he would wonder just how James would do that. A thirteen year old little boy who proclaimed that he can make a man like Tom great.

_I don't fucking believe it_, Tom kept telling himself.

Then one day in late February, he found out just what James meant.

They lived in the woods, a three hour walk from the closest inhabited home. With the money, Tom bought foods, clothes, and a little tent that he had set up by a big, old, and dead oak tree. He had also bought a gun for hunting and protection, but mostly for hunting small games like deers and rabbits that would venture out of their hidden places or burrow. James would always have a fire going when he came back, and a big happy smile on his face like a child seeing his father bringing home for him a new toy.

Happy, innocent, carefree. A child.

One of the most hideous kinds of monsters in the world. Tom should have known, he had seen those kinds before. But even though this monster had stayed with him for two months, it was the first exposing of its true nature. And it had shocked him.

On that day, he had done well. He killed two rabbits, two _baby_ rabbits to be exact. He would never kill the mother. Mother rabbits were required to breed. Kill the mothers, and the baby would die. Kill the babies, and the mother would still be alive to have more babies. Two baby rabbits, one for him, one for James. No need to share any food tonight.

It was a piercing scream that had drew his attention at first, the screaming and crying of a child. Coming closer to the tent, Tom heard another scream. Two kids screaming, a little boy and a little girl.

They lay naked on the floor with strings around their necks as they bawled their heads off, staring at him with four pairs of baby blue eyes that seemed to be begging for help as they kept on their noises. He froze, and merely stared in silence with his face white and a numbed body, a stunned mind that was too shocked to think or give command to anything.

A wooden pincer grasped a piece of burning coal, sliding all over their little bodies, leaving dark red trails that would turn black. And there James was, towering above them with a mad, grinning face and widen eyes like he had just spot gold as the twins- Tom were positive that those two were twins- cried and begged.

"'Tis like Missy Umbridge. They yell like her pigs. I heard sounds like that every fall when she killed them. I helped her," James said calmly as he picked up another piece of coal and preceding the torture, his eyes held a distant glint in them at the flash back of memory. "Tis two years ago. Missy Umbridge had two piglets like them."

"Mommy!!!" the girl of the twins wailed. "I want mommy!!"

Tom took a step forward. "What do you think you're doing," he hissed. "They are someone's kids! You want cops after-" James suddenly swung his pincer, pointing that piece of coal at the man with a glacial expression on his face. Tom stopped and backed off.

"They came here," he said dreamily- a strange tone to be using at such occasion. It was almost like he was telling a story, a fairy tale of some sort. "Like the way these rabbits do." James gestured to the two baby rabbits that lay dead by Tom's feet, who picked them up, not knowing that he had even dropped them. "When a rabbit came out of its home, you kill them. When children left their mommies...."

"That's not the same!!!" Tom bellowed. James looked down, his long eyelashes shadowed over his eyes as the dreamy look disappeared from his face.

"I remember _my _mommy," James continued. "She use to make chickens for me. She said she borrow them from Farmer Ben's house, and she use to made chickens for me. They made a sizzle sound when fire hit them, like this." He pressed a new piece of coal on to one of the little boy's arm, which were getting blue from lying in the snow. The boy screamed, piercing Tom's ears as a tiny sizzle sound was heard. The man jumped and turned away as James chuckled. The twins were hurt and cold.

And he just stood there.

"Farmer Ben killed mommy when he caught her borrowing his chickens." And the silence told Tom that the tale was concluded.

His first repulse after the silence- save for the crying of the twins- was to call the police. James was crazy, mad, and insane. He can't let that boy stay with him.

But no, they'll lock him up too. America or not, a human's sense of justice only goes so high. To be viewed as the caretaker of James will only make him a partner in crime. And killing innocent little twins whose only fault was not listening to their mother? It wouldn't be a year; it wouldn't even be ten in jail- no _prison_. There were differences. A life sentence at the very least, or immediately execution. He shivered.

"Good boy," James soft, cooing voice interrupted his thoughts. A knife was pressed onto the wrist of the boy twin. A bowl lay nearby.

"What are you doing!!!" he shouted, leaping forward. The knife quickly flashed towards him, and he felt the cold blade pressing on his neck, threatening to dig into his flesh. James glared fiercely at him and he gulped. "You'll kill them." A smile.

"I'm a criminal. I killed a man Tom."

It was disgusting, revolting to watch. He stood aside, not looking, but knowing exactly what was happening. He pressed his hands against his ears to block out the screaming, but it did no good. The dripping of blood into the bowl sounded as loud as rain pouring during a rainstorm. A rainstorm of blood, raining into a single bowl.

And then, it stopped altogether. The bowl clattered almost soundlessly onto the snow covered ground. Tom turned around, shaking in his clothes for more than one reason. The sight of the twins caught his eyes. Burned black, red, and blue patches ran all over their bodies. The strings were tightened around their necks; James probably choked them to death. Their wrists were sliced open with blood still pouring out. Blood spattered on their faces, centering on their mouth.

Tom wanted to throw up.

"This will make a great piece of art," was James' only comment as he stared at his "creation."

Tom had never treated anyone like this. People said that he was a horrible person, but this... He had never treated Narcissa, never did more than a mere beating when he was angry. Nothing enough to leave a permanent bruise on her. And even if he did left a mark, he had always bought something for her for forgiveness.

"I lied," the monster said suddenly. "About Missy Umbridge's piglets. She had no pigs. She was a poor Missus with no money. She had no pigs."

"Well that certainly made everything alright didn't it," Tom snapped, his voice dripped with sarcasm and rage.

"It was Siri and Reggie," James said. "They live with me." He looked towards Tom.

"Oh, you killed your own friends?"

The boy smiled. "No, I like them. They were nice to me. It was a man." His voice trailed off to a whisper by the word "man." He suddenly stood up and walked towards Tom. "He came into our stone house one night and he did that to Siri and Reggie. He told me to stand by the side and watch." His eyes held strange glints. A hand touched Tom's arm and Tom froze, like a touch had paralyzed him.

"He said to me...."

He can't move.

"He called me pretty. He said I'm pretty like a cute little girl." And James laughed.

Tom felt a hand snaked around his neck. And a moment later, James' lips pressed onto his. He gasped with shock as a sudden force pushed him onto the snow. His mind screamed for help as the boy dug his fingernails into his skull and bite his bottom lips. Blood rushed out and James pulled away.

"And he did this to me."

As he looked up into James' face, a new foreign feeling washed over him like a tsunami.

Fear. He was scared.

* * *

Tom got to work immediately the next day, burying the dead twins deep into the ground as James sat on a boulder, looking off into the distance with a blank expression as Tom worked. Twice, he thought about killing the boy. But James would then always turn his head towards him at the exact moment, staring at him like he knew exactly what was going on in his mind. And Tom blood would freeze.

He shoveled the dirt roughly to the ground, pushing the heavy dirt on to the body of the two, his heart jumping irregularly. One time, it seemed that it had stopped completely. Another time, it would race a million miles per second. His mind was a thought jam, one idea pushing another away, and being pushed by another idea right after that.

_Abandon James. Take James. Kill James. Turn James over. Listen to James. James can make you great. Abandon James. James will kill you. James can make you great._

_"I can make you great."_

Tom's grip on the handle tightened as he packed the last of the dirt on. He stood there with the end of the shovel dug in the moist Earth and looked at the ground, as if it might give him some sort of answer.

"Are you done?"

His knuckles turned nearly white at that voice. _I can kill him right now. I can kill him with this shovel and leave him here with the twins._

"We need clean snow," he replied coldly, refusing to look back. "The snow we have is mixed with dirt. It will be a dead giveaway."

"There's clean snow there," said James, nodding towards the space he was indicating. "I saw a raccoon out. The town people would be here."

Tom grounded his teeth and threw down his shovel, and headed towards the clean snow.

"I know you want to kill me," James said out of the blue as Tom started to scoop up the clean snow. "But you won't. 'Cause I'll make you great. Everybody will know you and fear you, like they had feared the English king."

Tom openly sneered at him and dumped the snow onto the patch of brown.

* * *

Two years later, he became great. With the ten million that he had acquired from Narcissa's parents as a goodbye present. He had quickly began his own lent and borrow business with the southern plantation owners, who were supposedly wealthy. The idea was from James, who helped with the business, telling Tom exactly who to lent to and when to set the deadline. Turned out that he was good at math. Within the first five months, his name had traveled up north, where the rich (for real) factory owners began borrowing money from him for use.

Interests on top of the debts, Tom quickly grew wealthy himself from being a human bank.

But he didn't want to live in a big fancy mansion that was probably a hundred years old with servants and maids. He didn't want to take vacations in France and Spain every summer and winter. And so, another idea bloomed in his mind from an innocent suggestion from James. The intention of it was not so innocent.

James wanted him to rule the streets, run circles around the government's head and have the dogs of the Congress pressed under his thumbs. Indirect controls of the country.

_"Everybody will know you and fear you, like they had feared the English King."_

It was a ridiculous idea, but it worked. It worked so well.

Two years later, James Potter made him great. That little boy who was starving hungry, skinny to bone. It seemed almost impossible for Tom to believe, except that it had happened.

What happened after the murdering of the twins still remained fresh in Tom's mind like yesterday. It was the first time that he had done it with a male. It was strange, and kind of awkward in Tom's point of view because he was usually the one in control and the top of every time. But James had overpowered him like a predator.

It didn't just happen once. It happened again that following week, and again the day after that following week. It happened every night when he would come to James' bed. The way that boy did it mesmerized him like no one had. The aggressive manner that James had during sex was incomparable by others. It went that way with them.

Until the gang started and he gained fame. Women came back to him, and women came to James. But there will always be one of those special nights when he would be beside James again.

Strange, he still found that strange. He wasn't even attracted to males. Women were definitely better, more flexible, louder even. But James seemed beautiful to him; not cute, not handsome, just beautiful because there were no other words that could describe him. The monster had him under a spell. He knew it. That beautiful, young monster.

James never whined, but Tom found himself giving him everything.

Tom looked from the sight of the boy to his plain, rough-skinned hands and stared at it blankly. Neither big diamond rings nor ruby bracelets like the ways that Narcissa had accessorized him with.

He turned his sight to James again, who were laughing away with another boy, slightly older than him as they played a game of chess. Remus Lupin, James' partner for chess games, sat there with lowered eyes, his lips as white as sheets as he stuttered answers to James' questions. A ring of white bandage wrapped around his neck.

Tom covered his face as he thought about what happened a few days ago.

It was another chess game where Remus had let James won. He had always let James won, like everybody had let James his way in the group; letting James his way was the first thing everybody learned, if not from someone else, then personal experiences. That game, James had won. Remus let him win because James liked to win.

Turned out that he didn't want to win.

_"You're going easy on me Rem," _he had said as Remus replaced all the pieces on the board.

_"Of course not,"_ the elder boy then replied with a small smile that Tom would have admired, because it was so little of emotion and so in control.

_"I want you to win."_

_"What?"_ Tom could remember the surprise shown in Remus' voice.

_"We're going to play one more game, and I want you to win against me_."

Remus had shaken his head modestly. _"No, you're too good at this, James. I'll never be able to win."_

_"You'll win or you'll die."_

Nobody disobeyed James.

"Do you want to play another game?"

Remus looked up; his normally olive green eyes were red, one of them with a yellow ring around it. He looked beaten, tired. Tom knew that he wanted to rest. "Yes."

Nobody dared to say no to James. People who said no will die. People who disobey or upset him in anyway will suffer. Like Remus had yesterday. Had he not won the game, his head would not have been intact still.

Tom sucked in a breath again at the memory of another James' victim three month ago, Abe Finch. Who had been forced by the boy to admit guilty to a first-degree charge in Tom's place. Abe was sentence a five years length on death row before execution. This was how Tom Riddle got away with everything.

He rarely did any dirty works; he gave orders. Killing? James was his solo killer. Everybody else were just there for show. While Tom would be declared innocent in the court room, James would be standing outside the court with the crowd, occasionally helping mothers watching their little babies, bouncing them on his lap like a perfect little baby-sitter.

Tom pursed his lips with irritation. It was not him who got away with everything, it was James. His child-like, guileless face eliminated all suspicion of him- not that anybody ever connected him with Tom. His features was a portrait of purity with his little nice-boy smile. The irony of who he really was seemed to be mocking the whole world, mocking Tom himself.

The man swallowed a held breath and closed his eyes. More than anything, James was a fake. The contraction between him and the boy was a fake.

"Do you want to play checkers, Tom?"

"I'm tired."

"One game."

He dared not to say no.

* * *

"What did you say?" An innocent, surprised look lingered on James' face as he looked at the younger boy across the room from him. Tom breathed in deep and looked up from his cards for the second time since the door had burst open, attention on full alert. "Did I hear a complaint, Greyback?" It sounded as innocent as if he had asked, "Did we ran out of milk this morning?"

Remus, who James had his back to, shook his head and mouthed the word "no" to Greyback.

Greyback bite his lips and lifted his head up, his pair of angry gray eyes burned into James' cool, hazel ones and he snarled like an animal. The older boy merely frowned. Remus and Tom stared with shock.

"Are you challenging me?" James asked in a even quieter voice than before, the softness of his tone vibrated with detectable rage. "Why, you were happy just this morning."

"I hate you," Greyback burst out, flinching himself when he said that. He backed off two steps as the older boy's eyes narrowed, expression unchanged, however. The gray-eyed one took a deep trembling breath. He knew what was coming. "I hate you. You're a blood-thirsty freak who only cares about himself. You used Tom as a shield from the public. I hate you, and I'm leaving."

Tom shot straight up as Remus made a slight jump.

"You want to leave?" James echoed, ignoring everything else that was said. His cool eyes had gone complete cold and dark. "You can't leave; you've only been here for a month. You haven't proved yourself to be trustworthy to us yet."

"This is a free country," Greyback snarled again, trying to sound tough. He held his fist up in an offense pose and glared at James. "I leave when I want to. You can't stop me."

"I can't?" He almost sounded surprised.

Remus jerked from his spot and put a hand on James' shoulder. The hazel-eyed boy turned slowly around. "He just had too many drinks, James. I'll handle-"

"Did I ask you, Rem?"

Remus gulped. "No." He back away.

"I can turn you in," Greyback continued. "There are a lot of people out there who would love to have your head on a stick."

James took a step closer, backing the younger boy up against a wall. "They don't know I exist; my head wouldn't have made a difference. But are you saying that you want to kill Tom?"

Greyback did not answer. A fist suddenly swung at his face, resulting a bloody nose. The younger boy's hands flew to his nose, gasping for air through his mouth when James elbowed him in the chest. Tom gripped the arms of his chair.

"James," he said. The hazel-eyed boy did not reply. "Get out of the room, I'll handle Greyback."

"You all get out," James whispered. Remus came towards him instead. His head snapped back and glared, a look so cold and imperative. "I need to tell Greyback things that he should know. You will all leave, and neither of you will come inside until I said so."

The two others got out.

"I'm sorry," the monster apologized later. "You must understand that I don't really mean it." It then smiled an apologetic smile at Tom, who stared expressionlessly. The mask of the angel covered the creature's face as it spoke. "I over react a lot don't I. I already said sorry to Greyback." And it laughed.

Greyback's body was burned in various places with coal. Several lines of cuts ran along his abdomen and his face was nearly deformed. One of his legs was broken and his left arm had been chopped off, leaving a stump. When they found Greyback later that evening in a puddle of blood besides his own left arm, he was near his deathbed. It was a miracle that he was still breathing.

* * *

If time were a bird of prey, then all things were frighten little animals that were being squeezed by its mighty talons, knowing that they won't ever escape. It was only a matter of time.

Nearly five years passed, Time was ready for its next kill.

Towns of Ohio were wondrous places from Tom's point of view. The noises of a busy neighborhood were nothing like the city, full of traffic and people talking, nothing like the open wide countries, where if you shouted, your voice could be heard for miles. Towns were in the middle, secretive, where lively jazz music played and town folk chatted amongst themselves in voices nobody would bother to overhear. Low and open at the same time; perfect, Tom decided, for a hideout.

He settled his empty cup on the table as a young maid fluttered over to him like an active, flirtatious butterfly, pouring him another drink while at the same time, shoving her freckled bosoms into his face for a good view. He showed no interest in her and gulped down half of his beverage and glanced around the room.

Two farmers talking loudly, hooting at passing maids. There was a stage up front where a young flapper woman was playing a trumpet. Nobody was listening to her. James was by a corner, a redhead- one of the maids- was sitting on his lap, feeding him his dinner. Tom looked away.

_This place is perfect_, he kept thinking, pushing all the other unwanted thoughts out of his mind.

* * *

"Lily loves me. She told me that she loves me." James' pale skin casted a pale glow in the dim light of the tavern room. His voice traveled from his mouth evanescently, fading into the air, yet the remnants of the meaning floated. Tom stopped his packing and gazed at him with a cool look, inwardly repeating the two sentences. One side of his mind was battling the meanings, another knowing exactly what it meant.

"And what does that have to do with anything. Did you pack all of your things yet? I told you that we're leaving right now last night and I told you to get ready," he said, pushing the self conflict aside.

"I asked her to marry me," James continued.

"You're nineteen. She's what? Thirty?" the older man sneered and snorted.

James' stared at him. "She's only twenty-three; she doesn't look thirty at all."

"Well, she looked like an old hag to me," Tom said, getting a hang of where this conversation might be going to. "I never knew that you have a sense of humor James. But this isn't really the time or the mood. Go pack your stuff now."

"Lily wants a family," he said. "With me."

"Don't make me laugh."

"And I'm sick of this live. I want to retire. Besides," James said, biting his lips. "Lily thinks I'm twenty-five."

Tom stared with amazement, shaking his head with disbelief, and kept telling himself that James was kidding. "But you're not twenty-five," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't look twenty-five," he said louder this time. "Don't kid anyone James, you can't even past for a twenty-three years old- her own age; she must have been quite an idiot to not see that."

"Lily isn't an idiot," James replied firmly, an edge to his calm tone.

"Pack up, I've got no time for-"

"Lily thinks I'm rich."

Tom stopped, his finger lingered on the folded shirt that he was putting into his bag. "What?"

"I need money. I've served you for over five years, I want payments. I want to settle down with her." His eyes flashed. "You will give me the money and let me go because you no longer needed me. I've made you great, Tom. Now you can let me go."

The faded sneer wandered back to his face as James watched him, waiting for an answer. "You really think that I'm going to let you go."

"I know that you will."

"There's always the option of daydreaming. You can do that James," he said. "Go pack up, we're going to leave for New Jersey in an hour."

James did not move, just stood there in that same spot and stared with an expressionless face, empty of all emotions as Tom continued his packing. "I love Lily and I want the money. I can kill you." His words were the cold blade of a knife, pressing against Tom's throat like that day with the twins.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't make me Tom."

"You don't belong with her," he reasoned.

"And I do with you?"

Did he? "Of course you belong with here with us- with _me_. I took you in."

A cold blade was pressed to the back of his neck, and his tensed up immediately. James' hand touched him, nudging him to turn around while at the same time, backing him up against the wall.

"I like you Tom. I really do. But I don't like the life you've given me."

A eruption of rage corrupted within him. "I've given you that life? _Me? _You asked for it!!! You're the one who told me to do it!!! You're the one who said that being a lender would make me rich- and it did!!! I don't want a mansion and you agreed. You told me to start this little group and you told me what to do with it!!! And now? Now you want out when a year ago you refused Greyback of the same request?! That's pretty hypocritical of you James, it really is."

"I know, but that was what I want before. Lily is what I want now. And if I can have it, I _will _have it." And he smiled that smile again. "If you missed me that way, there's still Narcissa. She came often enough to you doesn't she?"

At this, he snapped. "If you think of me as that disgusting to want you like that, James..."

"I look like a girl to you don't I? Lily did say that I looked like a girl if she looked close enough. That man who killed Siri and Reggie said the same thing," he said, rambling almost, but sounded like he knew exactly what he was talking about. "I still love Lily, and I plan to marry her." He paused. "You've been good to me, Tom. I don't want you dead. But I will not go with you. I want twenty grands to start off."

James knew that he wouldn't say no.

* * *

And so, Shakespeare's most famous romance literature had a happy ending to it after all. Romeo married Juliet and bought a house. They moved to Virginia and pretended that the past was only a morning shadow that no longer existed in the afternoon.

He did not attend the wedding- James did not expect him to, nor did he wanted to himself. Over the years, a pattern started; James would send letters to him when in need of cash, he would give the money to the "lawyer," who was another one of his people, and deliver it over to James. Words of conversation were barely exchanged in the letter.

Tom still did not get it. He certainly did not love James. The sex was great, but again, he had better women- _prettier _and better women. He had Narcissa, who after given Lucius an heir, came to him often, trying to go back with him to the old times. But he no longer found her as sexual attractive as before. He tried to tell himself that he only felt this way because she was older; her body was less exciting because he knew it well. But younger women did no good either.

He missed James, but he did not felt sad. He urged, ached for him to be here again, but he did not felt love. Yet, sex with another male should disgust him, but it didn't. Tom couldn't understand, it irritated him to no end for no being able to understand something as simple as this. Not fucking buddies, not lovers, not anything in between either. It was nothing and everything at the same time.

Fifteen years passed, three years since James had asked for the last sum, before he finally decided that enough was enough. James belonged to him since the day he had offered himself. And James still owed him a hell a lot of money. This time, it will be Tom Riddle who was going to gain something, even if it meant ruining James' fictitious fairy tale. _Especially if_ _it meant that_, he corrected.

The grand house in front of him was dead silent; no sound of any family what-so-ever seemed to be living there. Tom first thought that nobody was home. He knocked anyway.

"The door's not locked."

A surprised look pasted on his face at the calm words. A trembling hand gripped the knob of the door and he took a deep breath, hoping to breathe out the nervous feeling that dwelt in his stomach since that morning. He straightened his hat and smoothed his new suit for one last time before pushing in.

The door creaked as it opened slowly. Inside, the well-decorated- though unexpectedly dirty and smelly- room was badly lit. Cigarette butts and empty beer bottles lay around the floor. A pipe located among the garbage. The setting was absolutely preposterous.

Tom frowned. This was James house_? I must have gotten the wrong address_.

A rude burp interrupted his question. He flinched slightly, wondering if this was James from drinking too much. Under the dim light, he could make out a figure on a couch with short-cut messy hair- not naturally messy, messy like it hadn't been washed nor combed in a long time. The hair, he could also make out, was red.

"You're-" Lily Potter nee Evans grumbled and shook her head. Around her mouth was a circle of crust from not washing. Tom grimaced with disgust and backed a step away. "You're not James."

"I'm here to see your husband," he said to the drunken woman coldly.

Lily laughed, her laughter sounded like a dog barking. "That son of a bitch's not here. Scared away my little Harry." Then she whimpered, attempting to get up. "My poor, poor son," she moaned sorrowfully. "All because he's a bastard who can't be a man."

"Where is James?" Tom demanded again, annoyed at the nonsense that this woman was talking about.

"I told you that he's not here. I have to walk from the hospital." She then lifted her face. "See here?" She pointed to her jaw. "He beat me. That motherfucker beat me and scared Harry away. He said that I'm the worst wife ever." Lily scowled. "I'm a good wife, and I'm a good mother..." A low moan escaped from her throat as she held her head and took another swing, only to notice that the bottle was empty. "Huh? No more..."

The smell of vomit reached Tom's nose a moment later.

"She's drunk."

He turned his head. "I can tell."

James cocked his head to the left and raised an eyebrow questioningly as he stopped at the step of the staircase. His face was solemn as his wife let out a hiss, glaring at him intemperately.

"What are you doing here?" he said in a harsh, cold voice that Tom had never heard him used before.

"Can we speak in private?" he said with equal coldness, nodding towards the woman that was lying on ground.

Lily looked up at both of them scornfully. "Ha! So I've lost the right to talk by my own husband about family issues?" She scowled and staggered, trying to get up, her face stained with vomit and she wiped them off. "Wait..." Her eyes adverted to Tom. "I know you, I've met you somewhere." Her eyes looked around the room, as if looking for answers.

"The kitchen," James said, nodding towards one of the closed door.

Tom felt himself hesitating. "Not the kitchen." Cooking utensils had proved to be dangerous weapons in James' hands. And even after fifteen years, he wasn't willing to take any chances.

"TOM RIDDLE!!! YOU'RE THAT MAN-" She suddenly stopped and whimpered as James' eyes burned her words away.

"A woman should learn her place in a marriage," he snarled.

Lily's lips pressed thin. "Me? I've been a good wife all these year- I prepared dinner every single day! I took care of a kid like a good mommy does! I cleaned the house and did the laundry and whore for you in bed! I expect you to be a husband with job and dignity in return! And now this? It's because of you that we lost this much! Harry ran away because of you! And- and here's this _low life_ that you just suddenly invited into our house because you want a little comrade reunion-"

_SLAP!_

"Leave."

She stared at him with shock and shook her head, quickly scrambling up from the floor, sobbing, heading for the door.

"Not you." Tom held his breath as James turned around to face him. "Leave, Tom."

Another kill.

He did not leave. His feet were glued to the floor, his body as still as a statue as he watched the final horror. For the first time in fifteen years, Tom was reminded of how the old James was like. The monster came back, as vicious as a werewolf on a night of full moon. There was rape and murder, the tearing of a woman's life. His skin prickled like a million needles had stuck into it as he watched from the side. The monster let him watch.

It was the first time he had seen James torturing a woman.

Lily's skull was smashed, resulting her death at once. Her limbs were then cut, dislocated; the monster tossed them aside in a pile. Limbs not attaching to a body, and vice-versa, were a strange, disturbing thing to see. He knew that he should have stopped this madness and insanity, but he didn't.

The movement of the killer put him in a trance, like it had alway did. He cannot move, cannot speak, fearing that the monster might kill him if he did.

The monster burned her body, piece by piece in a big pot, where fire lit on paper. Hours passed as Lily was cremated to ashes.

"Such a pity," it said. "She was a rather nice woman, bright and funny."

Tom blinked.

"You were saying something?"

It took a few moment to get the words out. "I was here for the money. You owe well over forty-five thousand to me."

"And now you want it back."

"I want you back." He did not understand why he said that. James could kill him. But somewhere in his mind, relief and happiness formed at Lily's disappearance. "You can sell the house and said that she-" he nodded to the ashes. "Ran away."

"You're strange Tom," James said with a smile. "Why would you want me back after all these years?"

He didn't know. "I'll come back next week."

James let out a low chuckle as he opened the door, ready to leave. When he closed the entrance, the chuckle turned into laughter.

* * *

Black clothing and dresses seemed to be the theme of the town. Everywhere he went, a person in black would be walking past him. Some with a gloomy look, some crying, some held a straight, expressionless face. He watched a group of women with curiosity for a while as they huddled together and whispered. One burst into tears after a few moments and the others pulled her into an embrace, comforting her. They were heading for the local church.

The week was over. James had sold his house and had send the money to him already, all in cold, hard cash; they way that he liked most of his riches to be. Still, he wanted to see him, wanted to persuay him once more about changing his mind and returning to the gang.

"I can't believe that he'd just..." Tom heard the wife of a passing couple said. "He's got a son, he's a father!"

"I know Molly, we'll all miss James."

The breathe he took stuck in his throat. _What?_

"How are we going to tell this to Harry? And Lily! God, Lily just ran away like that without a goodbye! I can't believe that she had done it," the wife sobbed again.

_He's dead?_ Tom thought blankly with indifference of a confused mind, his eyebrows wrinkled as he frowned and looked down to the pebbled road.

Tom headed for the church.

When he arrived, the church father was already up front, standing under a monument, babbling on about something that Tom didn't quite catch. People around him listened attentively. He stepped a couple feet back and stood there, pretending to listen. The "speech" took over half an hour to finish. Tom heard none of it, only blanked out, thinking the impossibility of James, _James_ the cold-blood killer of god knows how many, would kill himself like that.

_I don't understand._ And probably nobody will ever.

"He's a nice man isn't he?" Tom looked down to see the same wife he had saw crying before. "Him and his wife, both nice people. And then suddenly the market just crashed and...." She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

Nice people. The first impression had not been what he would describe as nice.

"I suppose he is," he lied, trying to sound mournful.

"Oh, he's a very nice man, that James. Always helpful. And his son too." She paused, her voice quivered. "How are we going to tell Harry, how are we going to sent that letter? I can't believe that he had just kill himself like that."

"Neither can I," Tom muttered.

"Are you a friend, sir?"

"Old," he said. "Old friend."

She nodded. He walked away.

* * *

The house was empty, gloomy if speaking of atmosphere. Tom quickly turned his head away, heading down the road, never looking back.

He had not stay to grieve nor had he paid his respect to James' marble grave like the people in the town did. They viewed him as a great man who often generously donated to various charities, the man who threw engaging, delightful parties, the man whose wife was the best baker in town, the richest among them. A hero of some sort, almost.

Tom knew James. He knew James too well. If such person as James died, respect would not be needed.

The screeching of a hawk echoed in the dimming sky as he walked on. The laughing of some forest hunters reached his ears and later, the sound of a gun shot being fired. The hawk body landed beside the road. Tom stopped and looked at it as the hunters' laughter grew distance. A few minutes later another hawk- red-tail, both red-tail hawks- circled above him in the sky, screeching its fierce, angry screech and flew away.

He understood. Mates.

The mate of the dead hawk did not love its mate. He did not love Tom because like animals, they felt nothing emotional enough to be considered humanly deep. Like the hawk, he had only missed James, like missing a piece of a puzzle. But there will be no sadness, no love. James was too much of a beast to be a human, and between monsters, no sadness or love existed. _Those are human emotions,_ he thought almost sorrowfully._ But maybe if James was a little more human, then perhaps there will be._

The hawk screeched in the distance as it plunged forward, talons closed on a squealing mouse. Its mate had died, and all it cared about was food.

James had died.

"What's the boy's names again?" he wondered to himself. "Harry."


	26. Chapter 26

The dim light made Draco's body look dead as he lay helplessly in Harry's arms. Had it not been the rising and setting of the blond's chest and the quicken breathes, Harry would probably be convinced that he was dead.

_Just like Riddle,_ Harry thought biting his lips with dismay as he listened to the sounds coming from outside the wooden door. The siren of the police car was the majority of the noises. There were also a lot of screaming and cursing. Occasionally, a gun would be fired. Harry glanced back and forth around the room as his trembling hand stroke Draco's silky hair gently with care. Under his breath, he counted to ten every other ten seconds, in between the time, muttering to himself that it was going to be alright.

A dead Riddle there was no help to his concentration. Images of himself being arrested kept flashing through his mind. The option of letting Draco bleed to death in here wasn't a great mental picture for the time either. He could either get arrested or let Draco die here.

_There should be a third option. This isn't fair. _He let out a tiny sob, choking on his own saliva. He didn't want to go to prison. _Then I shouldn't have killed Riddle in the first place. I should have just knock him unconscious instead._

"Table..." the blond breathed.

Harry quickly looked down, startled at Draco's hoarse voice. "Table?" he echoed meekly. The man in his arms had turned his head away from Harry's chest and stared at what was in front of him. There was a big table, it was right next to the telephone Harry had used.

"Table... Beneath the table..."

...Was a rug.

"There has to be a tunnel entrance underground..." Draco stopped in mid-sentence and breathed deeply, "For this kind of situations."

Harry stared at the dirty, gray rug with realization. He licked his lips and started to settled Draco down on the floor, hesitating for a minute as he once again saw the wound on the left shoulder. A feeling of fear ran through him of that Draco might bleed to death if he left him here on the floor. It was a ridiculous thought, but for some reason, he can't help but felt scared at the suggestion.

"I'll be fine. I can't go with you-" Harry gasped and picked him up immediately. "No!-" the blond stopped and coughed, a flash of amusement streaked across his pair of gray orbs as he winced. "I mean, you get the door first and then get me. Moron." He added the last part with a forced smile.

Still uncertain, Harry lowered him back down to the floor and ran for the rug beneath the desk. Quickly pulling it off, he found a handle attached to a rectangular opening. There was a lock, securing the handle. He looked back to Draco.

"No key," he whispered.

"Open it."

The brunette glanced back to the lock and picked up a pen and tried to use the sharp tip of it to open. It took him three tries just to jam the tip inside the keyhole; his hand was shaking, throwing off his aim. His heart panicked every time a voice of someone got near the door of the room. The pen was stuck after a moment of wiggling it back and forth.

_I should have learned this from the Weasley twins,_ he scolded himself as he thought of the time when Fred and George had offered to teach him the lock-opening trick. He looked back to Draco again, lay there calmly with a reassuring smile, a hand holding his bleeding left shoulder.

He tried more than just the pen when he got the stubborn tip out. Edges of knifes and feather tips were also tried. None of them did any good. "Draco, I need the key. There's no key," he hissed.

"You don't need the key," the blond said. A grunt was heard from him a minute later as Harry got up and searched the desk again, pulling out the drawers for anything that might be of help to the damned lock that won't open no matter what.

"That's the last of those trashes?" His heart made a jump at the voice outside and his hand froze at its position; holding a bottle of ink as he listened. The officer tsked his tongue; it outside was surprisingly silence, free of all voices with the exception of few footsteps. The officer was right outside the door.

"Don't worrying," Draco mouthed just as an insane laughter of someone outside rang suddenly. Harry jumped and gasped. "Don't worry."

He gulped, his blood regaining its pattern of flowing. "There's no key, Draco."

"Is there a feather on the desk?"

"I tried it."

"You tried- Or a- a paper clip!" he whispered loudly. "A box of-" he trailed off into a cough.

Harry need not to be told twice. He scrambled up and grabbed the first paper clip off the table, returning to work immediately. His heart thumped soundly against his chest as he leaned down. All the blood flushed to his face and his mind whirled dizzily. His lips was crackling dry again.

"This wall seems a bit hollow-soundin'," the officer said as someone knocked on the wall outside. Harry could almost imagine a guy in uniform looking at the "wall" with a sneer, probably knowing exactly why the wall might be hollow-sounding.

"You think that there might be something behind here, Scot?" the low voice of another police said.

_There's nothing in here!!!_ His palms were sweaty as he forced himself to struggle with the paper clip. Sweat and metal were not good combination; his fingers kept slipping. He didn't see Draco getting up.

"There's a door here sir," reported the first officer. "Pretty invisible. Reckon there might be somethin' valuable in there?"

"'Course there will be."

"Open," Harry hissed at the lock with frustration, tugging and pulling, but it was no use. The paper clip was stuck within the key-hole. The door was then knocked, it sounded like thunder to Harry's ears.

"This is the Office Scot of Manhattan Police Force!!! I demand you to open this door at once!!"

"Oh fuck," Harry gritted his teeth, his breath grew short. "Draco... Draco what are you doing??"

"What does it look like? I'm helping you," the blond said, fumbling the lock with one hand. "Here, hold this."

"Open this door now!!!" The wooden door shook at the immense pressure, threatening to break down.

"Draco, you're losing blood." The Malfoy said nothing, instead, he bite his blood-covered lips in concentration, giving the pendant one more yank. It unlocked. Both let out sighs of relief as Harry quickly lifted the handle up. There was a dusty stairway.

"You go first," Draco said above the increased shouting. The brunette looked down and gulped. "Come on! I need you down there to help me if I fell. We're out of time."

Harry took the first step.

* * *

Her left hand ached as she shifted the position of the laundry basket, the healed scar in the middle of her palm stung from the soapy water. She should not have taken the bandage off so quickly; infection might put the wound in more jeopardy, as the soap bar she was given to use wasn't as clean as... Well, it was clean enough to wash the clothes in the owner of the Laundry Shop's eyes. But God knows what it had been through with all the dirt stuck in the soap bar, and what she had recognize when she first grabbed it to be teethmarks of mice around the edges.

She shivered from the thought of those hideous creatures as she walked down the blocks under the night sky. Rodents were not her favorite animals.

The front of her shirts and sleeves were wet, drenched with the water from washing the clothes. The wind blew at her gently but coldly. Her hands were numb and the way the damped shirt clung onto her stomach wasn't going to be a help; she'd catch a cold. Hermione winced inwardly again as she thought of the washed clothes in the basket, wondering just how harsh she would get yell at once the owner of these saw what she had done to their wears.

Perhaps she was not made to wash clothes; she would beat on them too hard and thinned them too much, or she beat on them too soft and the dirt and stains did not wash away. She would use too little soap or she would use to much. And she wrinkled them.

Hermione let out a loud sigh, trying to ease her quivering breath. She had done way too much crying and sobbing these past days. She could not afford to face customers with a face of an old hag, red eyes, and mouth lined in a frown. It'll drive away business and she would get fired. Again. Being a laundry maid may be a job that she didn't find pleasing in, but it was a job, and she intended on keeping it.

For the umpteenth time that day, her mind wandered over to the redheaded boy whom now lived with her. The frown on her mouth morphed into a little smile of content. Relationship between them was still confusing, but Ron was company. She was happy to have someone to talk to.

Passing the seventh street, her thought returned to blankness. A loud moan of pain reached her eardrum, and she stopped, her body stiffened. Gun shots rang in her ears. There was the sound of police sirens in the distance.

She gulped. "I shall mind my own business," she said shakily. But her feet were doing another thing; she stepped into the alleyway. A laughter worthy of a madden animal rang in her eardrums, her throat went dry and she walked faster, her heart lurching forward and her head shook with disbelief as she kept on telling herself that this was the wrong person. But she knew that laugh. Too well perhaps.

"The bomb! I smell fire, there's a bomb!!" someone screamed. Hermione let out a slight gasp at the thought of a bomb. _It's not worth it. It probably isn't even him._

Then _Thud._ A man suddenly collapsed in front of her when she turn the corner. She yelped and jumped into the air with fear, staring with widened eyes. Her forehead broke into sweats as she paled. The basket that she had held onto so desperately now clattered onto the floor, the clean and wet clothes that she has spend hours washing rolled in with the blood and the dirt. It would have looked more disgusting to her if it was day time, but the sight was disturbing enough. She backed off with horror.

Her hands started trembled non-stop. Her body as numb and still as a wooden statue as the man by her feet stared up at her with white eyes; no pupils, they seemed to be rolled over. Blood poured out from the ring of bruises and cuts around his neck.

"Help..." he gasped.

She shook her head as if denying the scene, wanting to help him. But her fear kept her glued to her place. A knife suddenly struck the man dead in his heart. She stopped breathing, her own heart stopped pounding. The crowing laughter of the murderer faded aways as their eyes met. The smile faded from his face and the sound stopped dead in its track. His lips moved, opening and closing for a moment before finally able to get words out.

"Her- Hermione?" he said her name first. She could see his body tensing as his back straightened. An imaginary punch gutted her in the stomach as she looked back and forth between the dead man and the man standing alive in front of her; the man who have left her ten years ago, whose face had haunted her dream almost every night.

She made a small smile, meaning to welcome him again. It formed more like a mouth of a crying girl.

"Hi Blaise," she said. The hoarseness of her voice startled herself. _Run._

"I- I'm sorry," the Italian man suddenly whispered, looking at the result of his doing. "I didn't mean- I did- I mean."

Her smile grew tighter. "Do you still drink green tea everyday, like I told you to?" The question spilled out of her mouth as fast as tears clouded her eyes. She backed off immediately, noticing a hand roaming towards her, trying to touch her face. The hand was covered with blood.

"You've stopped drinking green tea right?" She wiped away a rolling teardrop. Her lips felt sticky and a taste as sour as vinegar overcame her throat. "I know it taste bad and you'd rather drink booze but it's good for you," she said, crying and sobbing more by the second. Her hands were wiping her eyes frantically, but tears kept coming.

"I didn't. I'm sorry. I'll... I'll..." He'll what? "I'll help him up."

_The man's dead, Blaise. What's the use?_

"Why didn't you listen to me?" she said surprisingly quiet. There were so many things that she wanted to say to him at the moment; "I missed you", "I love you", "I want to tell you about the university I attended after you left? Don't you want to know about my job? I got fired just recently though. Do you want to know why?", "Do you care about me at all? Do you still care?" But all that came out of her mouth were random ramblings.

"I've told you that smoking and fighting is bad for you. And drinking's bad for your health; you could go insane. But you didn't listen and now it's too late because you're already crazy!"

"It's not like this. I'm not any different-" She jerked out of his reach as he tried to touch her again.

Blaise looked at her for a few seconds before backing off. His chocolate brown eyes bored into her stunned brown ones, almost pleading her. He stepped on the body on the ground and tumbled backward clumsily. His fall woke both of them up. It was then they both noticed the closeness of the police sirens.

Blaise sat on the ground, his eyes widened as he stared behind Hermione. Almost in slow motion, she saw him getting up. Her feet lifted themselves up from the ground without her permission, her hands was about to stretch forward, wanting to touch him. Someone grabbed her arms at that very moment.

"Miss." Hermione jumped and turned around, staring into the face of a beefy uniformed policeman, who held her by the arms. She twitched out of his grasp and trembled a little. "Are you alright, my lady?"

"Ye- Yes." Her head turned around again to see Blaise struggling as two more cops pinned him down and cuffed him. He swore, cursed, and shouted all the colorful words in the English language. Hermione almost smiled. He used to swear a lot in front of her, and she'd laugh like it was the funniest thing ever; it was because of the slight Italian accent he had before. It made his swearing sound funny.

Now as she listened to him more carefully, she noticed that the accent was gone.

"Do you know this man?" the beefy cop questioned her again. Blaise shifted his attention back to her.

"Hermione!"

"No," she said quickly, glancing down at the dead man in front of her, knowing that he would give her the anger she need. The bruises on his body and the ring around his neck gave her exactly that. "I don't know that man." She wished that she could have sounded more cold, harsh. Instead, she only cried even more. Guilt twisted her stomach into knots and she wanted to throw up. Looking up, she saw Blaise staring at her with hurt and shock. A flash of betrayal invaded his eyes for a moment before rage took over.

Hermione looked down at the dead man on the ground again. "I saw him kill-" Imaginary rocks beat down her words. Hot tears prickled her eyes again and again as shadow of Blaise being dragged away passed by her.

"Are you alright?" the policeman asked her for the second time.

"I want to go home." How childish that must have sounded. She lifted up her head and tried again. "I've got to go back to my work place; I have to go back before eight."

"Is that your clothes on the ground?"

Hermione looked down and nodded. "I- I'll pick it up."

They let her go. After a half block of walking, she could still feel Blaise's eyes burning a hole through her.

* * *

The tunnel smelled like the body of a dead animal gone rotten. Squealing of rats bounced around the tunnel as they ran past their feet. The wall felt moss and wet against Harry's hands as he pressed on it, using it as his guide. He held Draco using his free hands. Even in the darkness, he couldn't help by to glance at the blond every other second. Sure, he would see nothing. But it gave him a feeling of reassurance.

"Rats," Draco hissed with obvious disgust, wincing every once in a while as squealing of the rodents grew close to them.

"They're just rats," Harry assured.

"I've heard of rats eating people." Draco's voice was weak, yet still manage to obtain his hatred for the tunnel dwellers.

"That's stories. And they only eat dead people."

"Your two sentences are contradictory," the blond commented. "They don't make sense. First you said that it's only a story." He paused there and took a deep breath, then coughed, regretting taking that breath; the smell was indeed unbearable. "Then you said that they only eat dead people, which makes it not just stories. Which one is it?"

Harry was sure that he would look solemn and annoyed to Draco if they could see each other. "Stories," he once again insisted. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I can imagine them crawling over me," Draco began again this time in a voice of slight fear and amusement. He chuckled. "I can feel them gnawing my wound away. I think they're following my blood trail Harry." He added the last one for special effect.

Harry bite his lips and fought the temptation to shudder. "They won't. And I'll save you."

"Another contradictory."

Harry laughed nervously. If Draco wanted to pass time, then he'd play along. Where was the end of this hellhole anyway? He gripped Draco's hand- the right one was the one he was holding. Rats following Draco's blood trial, he let out a real shudder this time. "Is your wound-"

"I hate this place," the blond interrupted. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think that this path would lead us to China, passing the center of the Earth itself? Or maybe to hell?" Draco asked again.

"You're being ridiculous again."

The blond laughed the same nervousness Harry had a moment ago. "There are synonyms for ridiculous; silly, stupid are two rather common examples."

"Thanks for expanding my vocabulary," Harry said sarcastically with a scowl.

"You're welcome."

The random, meaningless conversation of theirs ended there. Time seemed to be stretched until it felt like to Harry that one single step took them an hour. There were no sounds except for the rats and their footsteps. Breathing was quieter. For the first time in his life, Harry wanted noise.

"Draco, are you there?" he asked in a whimper, feeling mighty ridiculous, silly, and stupid.

"I'm here," Draco replied, his voice sounding even faint, more of a gasp.

"Is your wound alright?"

"I'm still here."

Harry's heart sped up. The arm he had around Draco's gripped tighter. "How is your wound?" They had been here to long, the air was too unhealthy, definitely not a condition for a just-wounded person. Was it- Harry caught his breath- was it rotting? "Draco?"

Silence, then, "I love you."

What was to Harry the three most sweetest words coming from Draco was at the moment, the three most cursed words. He felt Draco's body relaxed and slumped. _He can't... Draco!!!_ A scream fought its way out of his mouth. "No!"

"What?" Draco asked, tensing up again. "You sound like someone was about to die."

"I love you too," Harry blurred out right after. He heard a chuckle of contentment and let out a long sigh of relief, though his knees were still shaking. Two minutes later, what had just happened dawned. He glared at his lover in the dark.

Draco seemed to be smiling. "Sorry, I haven't hear you said that the whole day. And don't worry idiot, I'm not going to die. My wound will be fine as long as we make it out of here soon."

And for no reason at all, Harry found himself crying.

"Don't act like a little baby. See? There's a door up ahead."

True to his words, withing sight distance was a double-metal door, rusty, but still doors. Star light shone through the cracks almost seemed like a miracle to Harry. He turned his head away for a moment to look at Draco, who grinned back at him in the dark. Below the door were wooden stairs. Harry lips curved up, forming a little smile of contentment and relief. Their pace quickened immediately towards it.

Harry went up first and pushed the door upward. Dust and rust flakes drifted downward instantly, making him cough. He went up another step and pushed again.

"There's a bar across the door," Draco announced from below. "See that intersect in the middle?"

His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach as he stepped down, wiping his face clean of the muck. Reaching up once more, he punched the double door again.

"SOMEONE OUT THERE?! OPEN THIS UP! THERE'S AN INJURED PERSON IN HERE!!!" He punched again and again till his knuckle started to bleed, till he was sure that his face was covered with the falling little flakes. When he finally lowered his arms, a pain shot through both of them, remnanted a sore feeling a moment later.

"Draco?" he whispered, looking back to his lover lying there on the ground. Draco's eyes were closed, his lips were pale. There was a rat approaching. His mind screamed as he stared at the rodent. Instinctively, he picked up a rock lying on the ground and hurled it towards the creature, who ran away squealing. The squeal echoed around the tunnel.

His whole body was made of jelly as he leaned down and touched the blond's cheek, whose eyes immediately fluttered open. "Hello stranger."

"We're stuck," Harry whispered.

"I can't feel my arm. My head feels dizzy," Draco breathed. Gleaming tears filled his eyes, sparkling in the dark as they rolled down his cheek. He started to babble again. "I don't want to die here Harry. When I was ten and someone beat me up, I was put in the hospital for a week. The pillow there smelled nice. I want to die in a hospital Harry, not here. And not now." His gray eyes- which looked like molten mercury in this darkness- met Harry's emerald green. He smiled sadly. "I'm too beautiful to die right? No, make that handsome. I'm not a woman."

Harry choked on a sob. "Shut-up," he quivered as his fist closed around another stone. With rage, he threw it upward, it made a clank sound and bounced off the metal door. The noise echoed around the walls like the rat had before, thundering against Harry's eardrums. He sat down and wrapped his arms around his legs, watching Draco from where he was. The blond's outline was vivid, the knife stuck out like a mountain in the middle of a flatland. Draco's eyes were closed again.

"Is someone down there?" a new voice shouted from above and Harry gasped, looking up with wonder and joy.

"Yes! Can you open the door up!?" he shouted back before sniffing his nose and dusting the dirt from his clothes. "Draco get up."

The night sky welcomed them with a loud squeal of rusty metals and the face was a woman with messy brown hair who was clutching her skirt. Strangely, she seemed like the perfect personification of Mother Earth. He shook his head and wondered why he was thinking of such thing at a time like this.

"Here, take my hand," the woman said as she flung the door to its side and went down. She stopped when she saw Draco. "Oh my..."

Harry stared at her, waiting.

"I'm a doctor. Let me help you; my apartment is near," she finally said.

They helped Draco up the stairs and closed the double door. The woman picked up a basket of laundry.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the apartment. She settled the basket down to the floor and knocked at the door in front of her. "Ron!" she shouted.

Harry stiffened. _Ron?_

* * *

The hands of a person could tell people a lot about that being. A farmer's hands being rough and dirty from laboring in disgusting places. A lawyer's hands may be soft and clean with a few paper cuts. A blacksmiths' hands would possibly be black.

Ginny Pettigrew smiled as she examined her own left hand with its newly polished red nails and the glorious diamond wedding ring. A lady's hands were the perfect ones of all hands. _And so perfect are mine,_ she thought with a satisfied smirk as she continued to admire it, blowing on the red nails ever so gently.

She wiggled them and drifted to thoughts of the check and Blaise. Her breathing stopped at a mental image of her Italian lover's face, savoring this imaginary moment of his chocolate brown eyes staring into hers with aggression. Just like all the times they made love. He called it fucking, she called making love. He said that she wasn't for him, she would turn him around.

Ginny giggled with delight. When will he be back to rescue her from the hellhole of pure boredom? Peter was still gone and would be gone for another two more months, a call from him three days ago told her. Blaise should be back by then.

She sighed again.

_Blam!_ The front door of the manor shut so loud that it made her jump. She got up, suddenly noticing that her red nail polish had brushed against the sheet of the bed, creating four red streaks- not including the thumb. She hissed with irritation, then stopped. This meant new bed sheet, which was good, she was tired of lavender anyway and had meant to get a pink sheet instead. Actually, she had wanted to redecorate her entire room in pink, but Peter had insisted that it would be lavender because that was the theme color of the manor's interior.

Laying back, Ginny picked up the bottle of the nail polish from the night stand beside her bed, intended to re-do her messed-up nails.

"WHERE IS THAT LITTLE BITCH!!!"

The bottle dropped onto the carpeted floor as she gasped and sat up straight. Her resting heart sped up instantly at the voice, a feeling of fear ran through her and twisted her stomach. She got up from her bed, her hands trembling nonstop.

Peter wasn't suppose to be home.

"Mr. Pettigrew, Madam is taking her afternoon-" the head of the servant, a Negro woman named Tulip started to say. A snarl from Peter cut her off.

"Where. Is. She," Ginny heard him growled as she pressed her ears against her door.

"No," she breathed quietly and backed off. Her hands flew to her widened mouth, panic tore at her heart Her mouth had gone completely dry as thundering of Peter's footstep came closer and closer to her bedroom door.

"I can lie," she said to herself with false confidence. _I can deny, seduce. Yes, seduce him. I can do that. I can pretend that I don't know what he's talking about. _Her eyes lit up for a second. _I can blame it all on Tulip. And Tulip had a daughter. I can use her. Yes, use the Negroes._

Ginny stepped towards the door and opened it with trembling hands.

"Peter!" she forced a smile onto her face as she saw her husband. His eyes were narrowed into slits, his teeth were snap shut, and his face was red, deep red with hatred and anger. Peter had his fist raised. For a moment, Ginny reconsidered running back to her room and shut the door.

"Hello Peter," she said in a smaller voice as he came forward. Her own feet took her back two steps for every one her took towards her. She blinked, looking as innocent and as curious as possible. "You're home early. Did something went wrong during the trips?"

The raging redness faded away from Peter's face, replaced by cold fury. Ginny's smile faltered in response.

"You little whore," he spat at her and she flinched at the tone of his voice.

"What- What are you talking about Peter?" Ginny countered, the quiver gave her away. "Have I done something wrong?"

The man bared his teeth and glared. "Eighteen thousand, love," he said coldly with a sarcastic slur at the word, love. "A check to a certain speakeasy in town. But you know what's strange about that check." Ginny sucked in a breath and held it. Her fists gripped at her skirt. "I've never signed that check. I've never gone to that place before either."

She nodded. "That's weird, I wonder who could've done it?"

"Me too, me too. But I think you know that answer."

Silence.

"Well, you do don't you?"

Ginny shook her head and put on a frown. "Are you accusing me?"

Peter's face grew darker as he glared harder at her, his face turning bright red again as he raised a white knuckle, as if going to bash her face in. She let out a small gasp of fear and stumbled back. Just that moment, Peter's face transformed almost insanely fast from anger to a sneer.

"Might you know, Gin. I've just checked out the newspaper today. Care to guess what made the headlines?" he asked, obviously a rhetorical question.

Ginny bite her lips as curiosity rosed. A moment of silence past, her waiting for him to tell the answer. He didn't. "I don't know."

He laughed. "In New York two days ago. A infamous criminal was arrested. Blaise Zabini had a quick, one day trial and was immediately sentenced two years on death row in Federal prison. Interesting isn't?"

_No. _She shook her head with disbelief. A bad choice.

_Wham! _Her skull made contact with wall. The impact was dim the first nanosecond, then the pain spread, like somebody had set a time bomb in her mind. A scream escaped out of her as tears welled up in her eyes.

"You little whore!" he spat. A kick at her legs. "You think that you could get away with it?!"

She looked up at Peter and whimpered, attempt to crawl further and further away as he came closer and closer, his shadow looming dangerously over her. It took a while for it to sink in; she could move no further.

"It's not me," she whispered frantically. "I didn't do it! I didn't do it!"

Another punch went down at her and she shifted her head to the right, The knuckle hit the wall, creating a dent full of red droplets of blood. Peter's fist was bleeding, but he didn't seem to care.

_Run! RUN!!!_

She ran. The house was suddenly a strange place to her. The halls were alien and the stairs seemed to have been shifted. Everybody were in her way, slowing her down as Peter chased her. She crashed into tables, blinded by tears and empty of plans and thoughts. Instinct abandoned her.

"'Ello! Officer!!! Our Mister's killin'-" Ginny knocked ran straight into the woman, knocking the phone out of her hand. "Officer!"

The lack of air burned her lungs. Each time she took a rest, even for just a second, the effect of running would hit her. The pain would nearly swallow her mind. Her whole body would weaken too fast, faster than it could take. Peter did not get tired. His overweighting helped her, but his rage powered his strength. She plowed into a room, nearly cornered before realizing her mistake.

_Not Blaise!! HELP ME!!! BLAISE HELP ME!!!_

A chair came crashing down onto her. It was wooden, the hard wood dug into her skin, a sharp edge hit her hip bone. Peter roughly grabbed her up from the floor, shaking her like a useless broken doll. His yelling were barely registrable by her.

Finally he let go of her. She watched through dimmed eyes of his face, a face of shock and horror. There was a bed near her. The silk stung her wounds and bruises, but it felt so soft against her skin. Tears streamed down her cheek as she savored the moment of him not hitting her anymore.

The wound would probably take some times to heal, but they would heal. He wouldn't kill her.

_How would I know? _She doubted. _He would kill me. Yes, he would kill... I'd die! I don't want to die! _

Her hand ran across a bump on the pillow, and without even thinking about it, she knew what it was. _Kill him before he kill me. Kill._

She took it out from under the pillow and fired. The bullet hit Peter dead on; he was standing so close. The sudden absence of his scream made her world echo with soundless laughter of triumph. Her finger remained on the trigger, expecting Peter to get up again even though she knew that he can't.

_Ha! Ha ha!_

"They're in that room officer!" a maid shouted. Footsteps thumped the floor like mini-Earthquakes. They came closer.

As the gun slided from her hand, a sob fought its way up her clogged throat. The sheriff arrived at the door first. Ginny stared at his shocked face as reality hit her hard, her knees weakened. Peter was dead and the weapon was right before her feet. Guilty, guilty, prison.

"Mrs. Pettigrew," the sheriff said, breaking the thick silence with his trembling voice. "You're under arrested."

The sobs turned into crying.

"No!" She struggled as a buffed man cuffed her hands together. "You can't do this to me!!!" She screamed and she kicked. Excuses flooded her mind. "I'm only fourteen!!! I'm fourteen years old!!! I'm just a little girl!! I didn't do it!!! Help me, help me!!!" No one- the servants, the other uniformed men- no one helped her.

_Blaise._ "Blaise," she whispered. "Blaise help me." A hand went around her waist, intending to lift her off the ground. "DON'T TOUCH ME! BLAISE!!!"

But Blaise couldn't help her, he was in prison. _Remember? Remember, he's in prison. Peter said so. Peter... Peter..._

"PETER!!!" she screamed at the dead body of her husband. "PETER HELP ME!!!"

He did not move.


	27. Chapter 27

There had never been a moment more awkward for Harry when the door of the woman's apartment opened. He didn't have time to prepare for the shock that dawned his mind as unexpectedly as the night, and as fast as the speed of light. At first, Ron had on a confused expression, shaking his head, probably in his mind thinking that Harry was another person.

The sight of Draco confirmed his suspicion when the woman- named Hermione, apparently- told him to help Draco to the chair. Harry saw him hesitating.

"Ron, what's up with you?" Hermione asked quietly, then bite her lips and frowned. "I've got to go. The clothes need to be returned and I'm already late." She looked down at the laundry basket beside her feet; the clothes were not exactly what Harry would call clean, streaked and covered with dirt and... blood.

The brunette boy glanced up and saw her shaking her head. "No, take the basket inside. The clothes need a rewash. Help this young man to the clean bed in the patient room."

Ron walked over and slung Draco's good arm around his neck, helping Harry carrying the blond inside. They lay Draco on to the bed.

Harry looked at his best friend. So many questions came to him that he wanted to ask. How did Ron got here? Who was this woman? And why? What? How long? Ron looked at him for a moment with a stoic face, then got up and walked away.

"Ron," Harry called after him. At the doorway, Ron turned around abruptly and looked at him solemnly. The brunette held his breath. "What happened?" he began. His best friend did not answer.

Ron washed the dirty clothes for Hermione that night while the female doctor took care of the knife. Harry was beside her the enough night, getting towels and smoothing his lover down the best he could. They sealed Draco's mouth with tape as she worked on his wound. His muffled screams and cries would be Harry's own private memory.

* * *

He slept at the foot of Draco's bed that night, huddling as he pulled the blanket closer to himself. The piece of mat that Hermione had found for his as the bed made his body itch like crazy with the sweat and the dirt.

Above him, he could make out the familiar figure of Draco under the blanket. He longed to reach up, to stroke the blond's silky hair to lay next to him. It was nearly unbelievable to him that all of this could happen in one single day. What had occurred this morning seemed like a hundred years ago. In fact, it all seemed like one big weird dream, so surreal. He smiled and turned his head so he was facing away from Draco, staring at the mat beneath him. Time, what a trickster.

Ron stared at him from his bed.

"Hi." It was the first word that he had said to Harry all evening.

"Hi," the brunette whispered back. An moment of awkward tension filled the stretched silence. Harry could feel his cheeks heating up in the dark from embarrassment, wondering just what he could say to Ron. Will he still hate him?

"What happened?" the other boy interrupted his thinking. Ron made a motion towards Draco. "How did that guy get stabbed."

Harry took a deep breath. "We got into a fight," he managed out.

There was no response. Then, "how?"

"Riddle."

In the dark, Harry saw Ron's face scrunched up with slight confusion. Remembering the his best friend didn't know who Riddle was, he took a deep breath a gave a simply explanation. "He's the guy who kidnapped you."

Ron's face darkened.

"Draco paid a gang. And they fought," Harry summarized the event, fitting it into two sentences; it sounded so childish. Ron made a snort in response, probably also rolling his eyes as well. "He was being stupid. That's why I was trying to stop it, but he went after me."

"Then wouldn't it make you dumber than he is?" the redhead retorted, resting his chin in his folded hands. He glanced across from him and made a slight sneer and then shook his head and put on a serious look.

"Listen Harry, I want to say sorry," he started. "I shouldn't have said all those things to you that day. And yes, you're right. I should have been more grateful; I could've been killed. It's just..." He winced. "It..."

"Gross, disgusting, inhuman," Harry suggested. The redhead flinched, dipping his head apologetically. "I understand."

"We were having a hard enough time already, with-" He stopped there. "I was pretty mad, I guess, that some random macho guys would just burst into our boxcar for no reason and drag us away. They kicked over his grave, did you know that?" His voice croaked at the mention of Percy. Harry thought he saw glinting of tears. "We were so mad; we thought that they might just dig up his body and leave it out open for us to see. They were laughing, Harry, like maniacs."

"They are maniacs," the brunette whispered.

"George kicked that guy and they threw him on the ground like a toothpick; he nearly had his arms broken and his neck twisted. And they just sneered at us like we were pig shits under their feet. I didn't understand what was happening. I asked them why are they doing this and they laughed again." He looked at Harry as he said it. "Do you know why?"

"It's my fault. It's..." He hesitated. "My father, he had something to do with them."

Ron looked up with interest. "What?"

"Nothing," Harry quickly dismissed the issue with a shake of his head. "What happened to Dean and the twins?" he asked, noticing all evening long that it was just Ron and Hermione in this apartment. "They went after you didn't they. Why aren't they here? Are they still back at the boxcar?"

"What about your father?" Ron persisted the topic. "Was it because your father couldn't pay his debt?"

Harry gulped. Should he tell Ron? No, James' absurd tale wouldn't be believable. Keeping the explanation plain and simple, he nodded as the answer. Ron sucked in a breath. "It's not fair for you. I'm sorry," the brunette apologized. "You have absolutely nothing to do with this." Scared that Ron was going to ask of more, he returned to his persuade questions of the twins and Dean. "So where have they been gone to?"

Ron shifted position and darted one of his hands under the pillow. A moment later, it reappeared with a folded piece of paper, no bigger than the size of a thumb. Harry reached up and took it as it was handed to him. He unfolded the paper carefully.

_Der Ronie-kin, our dering litle bother,_

_We and Dean hav desided on a chois. We wan to go to Calefornea and deeg for goald. Wen we com bac, we ar goin to be rich and famus._

_Sincarely,_

_Fred Weezy, George Weezy, Dean Thomas_

He dropped the note and glanced up.

"They called me a bother," Ron mumbled bitterly. "They said that I'm their little bother. They didn't even wait for me. And you know what? They took all my things too- all our things- and just left. That's why I'm here with Hermione. I've got no place to go."

"I'm sure 'bother' is just a mistake," Harry assured, and then he added in a lighter tone of voice. "Along with all those other grammar mistakes they've made."

His best friend scowled darkly. "I know that. But it still seemed like they're still taking me like a joke. Little bother indeed."

The brunette laughed, thinking of the twins and their cunningness. Fred and George were the joy-bringers of their little town back home. Everybody liked them in one way or another. Despite what "little bother" might mean to Ron, he found it amusing. His own laugh smoothened his worries.

"It's not funny."

Harry shook his head, still not able to wipe the smile off his face. "You're right."

Above him, Harry hear a snort, suppressing a laugh. He sat up immediately at the sound and leaned over Draco. His lover's eyes twinkled mischievously back at him, glancing over at Ron, who scoffed back with irritation and dislike.

"Little bother," Draco repeated with a sneer.

"Draco," Harry hissed as Ron sputtered, turning red in the dark with embarrassment. "Sorry Ron. He's not like this."

"Oh no," the redhead replied. "He's worse."

The blond widen his sneer and glared. "At least I'm not a hypocrite like you Weasel," he snapped back. Harry thought that he saw Ron tensed under his blankets. A minute later, the Weasley sat up, looking ready to kill.

"Oh what?" the blond continued to mock. "Little Weasel afraid to admit? Ha! Like you'd stay with a woman because you've got no where to go! Tell me how many times have you two slept together."

Harry looked at Draco with horror.

"Take that back you fucking liar!" Ron snarled loudly with clenched fists, ready to fight. His face was the same color as his hair.

"Draco, what-"

"Please, why else would he apologize?"

"You're making false assumptions with zero evidence," Harry accused, frowning. "Apologize to him. Ron's not like that." He turned to his best friend. "Right?"

The flushed boy back off, looking slight- no, Harry watched- very guilty. There was still the stubborn, murderous look on his face, though not as well-expressed as before. "Ron," Harry gasped. "How old is she?"

"Thirty-three," he grumbled with defeat. Draco snickered with triumph. Harry gaped more. "There's nothing wrong. It was a little kiss, and she said forget about it."

"Oh what," the blond said before Harry can say anything. "You think that two guys together is repulsive, but a underage fifteen year old kissing a woman old enough to be your mother is not? Once again I must say, what a hypocrite!"

Ron looked ready to explode. "You take that back bastard!"

"There is only a four year difference between me and Harry," Draco went on, paying no heed to the warning. "There's nothing wrong with that. At least I don't find my own mot-" A hand slapped across the face lightly and he shut-up immediately, then opened his mouth, ready with more retorts to throw. But the hand covered his mouth and twisted his head away from the sight of the Weasel. He averted his eyes to find a pair of angry emerald eyes staring back at him, challenging him to say more. He huffed and pouted as they two regrouped best friends talked on.

In the dark, Harry's hand brushed against his own and entwined them together. Draco drowned out their talking and smiled.

* * *

The tea cup looked almost antique to Draco if judged by the faded ivy pattern around it. There were several chips and cracks and the bottom of the cup felt grainy and rough. It was clean at least- Draco grimaced as he took a sip- but certainly, a Malfoy deserved a better cup.

A tremor ran through his stomach as a voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he was no longer a Malfoy. He put down the cup and let the bitter aroma drift beneath his nose.

It had been the third day here. His wound was healing slowly. According to the female doctor-

_Doctor? Really? _He thought with a snort.

-He could get out by the end of the month, which to him, sounded great until he really thought about it.

About what he would be doing, what he _can_ be doing.

What can he be doing anyway? In the month, the papers for the disowning would have already been progressed by his fath- Lucius' lawyer. He was already fired; jobless, nameless, and stripped of whatever fortune he had thought to possess.

His education? He was homeschooled by expensive tutors from the age of five to seven, then came grammar school, where he attended for four years before Lucius decided that he was making no real progress. He was a dropout to every single private and boarding school he was enrolled into.; he hated those school where he had be share rooms with snotty boys who thought that they were better than him- and everybody else; he hated the professors with deep passion, and deliberately failed every single tests and exams. And against Lucius' urgings when he had turned seventeen, he refused to go the college.

"_There's no need for it,"_ Draco could still remember his younger self exclaiming it with extreme stubbornness.

"_You need college Draco. It'll give you a whole new experience and prepare you better for my role. I'm not going to be around forever,"_ Lucius argued back.

"_I hate college and I hate school. I'm not going."_

"_Grow up Draco,"_ the elder blond had snapped at him darkly.

"_I've grown enough. And college is a waste of time."_

Draco still had no idea how college was going to help any for him, even now. But all those failings were not going to look good on an application. Of course, there was always the option of lying... He hesitated. No.

_What am I going to do?_

First, he needed to get out of the state. And then? _No._ Change his own name? Because there was the possibility that Lucius might had blacklisted him. _Can't._ The more he thought about it, the more worry he became.

"Draco?" Harry asked, snapping him out of his dazed state. "A penny for your thought."

He grinned, glad to have his attention taken away from the unpleasant picture of the future. "Give me the penny first."

The brunette handed him a penny instantly, smirking evilly as his eyes shone with glee as he slapped it down on Draco's opened palm. "Thought you might say that. See, I'm ahead of you." And then he added. "I found that penny on the floor."

Draco looked down at the coin in his hand and dropped it back to where it came from. He scowled at the boy, who looked at him with curiosity.

"I was thinking of what we'd do after we got out of this..." He glanced around the room with disapproval. "... Place."

"We stay where we are," Harry answered firmly.

"We can't. We're not going to survive here," Draco pointed out. "There's no way that I can to get a job in New York. Not an actual money-making profession."

"But why?"

"My father," he muttered.

Harry nodded with understanding. "There's minor jobs," he then said brightly.

The blond's face scrunched up with horror at the thought of working in a meat factory. "Have you ever read The Jungle?" he said and shook his head, looking as if he might be sick. "No way. Now that I thought about it, I think that I might convert to being a vegetarian."

A new voice interrupted their conversation. "You should. Vegetables are good for you," the doctor said. In her hands was a tray of food. "And I've made an all vegetable meal for you. You can start now."

"You're not at work today," Harry said before Draco could make some snide comments about the disgusting plate of spinach that she had prepared. Hermione smiled a little smile.

"I don't like my job. I quit two days ago," she said quietly.

Harry looked down. "Sorry."

"Why are you saying sorry. It's-"

"If we haven't-"

"I don't like my job," she said flatly, a tone indicating to Harry that he should shut-up. "So I quit. I don't like washing clothes anyway. I'd rather stay home."

The brunette opened his mouth to protest about how it was their fault that she was late for the evening report that night, which had cost her the job. Three days with two more mouths to feed had squeezed what she had left dry; she can no longer afford meat. Harry want to apologize, but she was gone before he could get a word out.

Draco poked at the food on his tray.

"It's not fair to her," Harry mumbled.

"Life was never fair to begin with," the blond said, talking more to himself. No more was said.

* * *

Crisp, dry leaves crunched beneath his feet as he walked through the tiny park. The children he had seen here before, the one who was dragging his little brother along in order to keep up with the rest of his siblings were gone. Big oak trees towered over him, showering him with bright yellow leaves.

Draco was well, his wound was more or less healed. They had moved back to their flat, glad to be home again. Now he waited with what little patience he had left here in the park for Draco to come back to him from this "errand." The blond had ordered him to wait here and he had asked why. He gave Harry no answer, only running off.

The brunette shivered and hugged himself closer. Plopping down onto a bench (and then standing right back up for a moment when noticed that it was wet, but sat back down again), he gazed down the curvy road, hoping to see Draco's figure running back toward him. Draco made him happy, Draco made him feel loved and adored. All doubts he had before were erased, along with the unease thought about the "Pansy" woman he did not know about.

"_You'll meet her soon_," Draco had said to him yesterday and he had flinched slightly. A smile merged on his lover's handsome face. _"Don't worry, don't worry."_

There was the financing issues, there was the fear of not being accepted, there was the thoughts of police discovering them; though they still haven't, if the police were even looking for the person who killed Riddle. But he had not worry since then. Harry hugged himself closer and sighed. His breath made clouds.

"Harry." Draco's voice made him jumped. He turned around, fighting the urge to throw himself into Draco's arms, knowing that the injury had not completely healed and that the muscle might rip again.

"Hi," he mumbled excitingly, glanced Draco up and down, looking around to see just what Draco had bought.

There was nothing around.

"Where....? What did you...?"

The blond looked from the left to the right before pulling Harry into a warm embrace, who blinked.

"Marry me."

_Wh- what?_

He frowned, wondering if he had heard it wrong.

"Marry me," Draco whispered again into his ear.

"What are you talking about?" It was then he felt a hand gently caressing his own. Harry glanced down and gasped, seeing a silver band around Draco's left ring finger. "You can't be serious!" he hissed with widened eyes and pushed away.

"Of course I'm serious." Harry stiffed. Draco's grin wore off. "You don't want to marry me?"

"We _can't _marry. It's against the law," the brunette pointed out. "You- We just got out of a mess. I know you like to break rules but this is...."

"Not natural?" Draco said coldly, his face hardened. Harry opened his mouth and closed it again.

"It against the law. It's already enough that we're together. A wedding? A marriage? Draco, we have to lie to everyone in our building that we're cousins," he said. And surprisingly, people had been accepting that answer.

He heard a deep breath being taken. "The law says that we can't marry legally."

"That's what I'm trying to say."

"We're not marrying legally," Draco insisted. "Just because we can't marry legally doesn't mean that we can't get marry at all. I've already planned everything. With Pansy about _her_ marriage too." He came closer and warped his arms around Harry again. "It's private. No one's going to know. It'll be in our living room, Harry," he said quietly, trying to sound cheerful. "A quiet little wedding of our own away from the eyes of the world. Well, and it'll be Pansy's wedding too. A double wedding."

"Pansy...?"

"It'll be a double wedding," the blond repeated again. "Me and you, Pansy and her bride."

"Bri- bride?" he choked, shocked from head to toe. "You mean-"

Draco smiled. "Now you know why."

He nodded his head absently.

The blond took a deep breath. "Will you marry me? It'll be illegal and unofficial, but will you marry me?"

Harry stepped back, looking even more uncertain. "We – we can't marry Draco. We _can't-_"

"Harry."

"What?"

"Just say yes."


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Wow, the first chapter of pure fluff. Enjoy! :D**

* * *

Worries about the loud squealing of the little piglet from the guest bathroom grew to be a less concern subject for Harry as two pairs of unfamiliar footsteps from the living room made the floor shake with barely noticeable earthquake. He sat on the bedroom bed, trying to concentrate on with tie would go best with his shirt. He was irritated, not because he could decide on one, but because of why Draco said that he had to wear one in the first place. The loud voice of a woman talking drew his attention away from his picking of ties.

"Hey, your place is bigger that mine!" the woman said with obvious jealousy.

"And better," Draco added smugly.

"_Not _better," the woman said again. Harry could envision her shaking her head, lips pursed childishly. He stepped outside the bedroom and into the hall, knowing that this woman must be Pansy Parkinson. Curiosity bubbled in his mind. "Definitely not better," he heard her said stubbornly. "My place costs nine grands."

"I paid ten," Draco offered.

"What!? But You have no money you-"

It was then when Harry decided make his entrance. He came out of the dark hallway and ran to Draco's side, completely cutting the woman from her next word. The first thing to notice about her was her bulging stomach, which Draco had told him about; a child of an ex-German Ambassador. The second was the young girl with golden blond hair standing behind her.

The next thing that came out of her mouth made Harry frowned.

"It's a guy." Pansy Parkinson's voice was a harsh, amazed whisper. She looked at Harry with astonishment, then turned her eyes to Draco, shaking her head with an expression that one would almost take for disapproval had it not been the wrinkled eyebrows and the opened mouth. "It's a guy," she whispered again. She looked back to Harry like she was looking at an alien. The boy inwardly tensed, feeling rather nervous, but can't help but to stare at her stomach... "I can't believe that it's a guy."

"I," Draco started, "am very offended that you'd call my soon-to-be spouse an 'it'. And yes, Harry's a guy. You're with Luna, don't be such a hypocrite."

"But it-" A look from Draco stopped her. "I mean, _he_. He's a guy! You told me that it_-... _He is a girl!"

"I never say anything about Harry's gender," the gray-eyed man pointed out with a smirk. "And there is nothing wrong with marrying him if you're marrying a girl."

"But he's a _guy_," she whispered again, as if Harry being a guy was a reason to be going ballistic over.

"Um," he tried to begin a conversation, hoping that she would response decently at the least. He looked back and forth between her face and her bulging abdomen. To be polite, he quickly stretched out a hand for a welcome handshake. "H- hi."

The woman stared at him, making him withdraw his stretched-out hand. "You are a guy," she repeated for the umpteenth time since she saw Harry.

"Ye- yes I am," he replied, putting on a fake smile to smooth her. "Sorry that Draco didn't tell you."

The blond snorted before pulling them away from the female couple; Pansy watched them leave with the same shocked expression, and Luna stood beside her, not sure if she should slap the Parkinson's cheek or not. A hand lifted, millimeter from her older lover's face before lowering them down again, frowning with dismay and a bit of annoyance.

"Can you believe that he never told me?!" Pansy finally roared out. She put her hands on her hips and stomped her right foot. "You're a bastard, Malfoy."

Draco was in the kitchen, the door was shut. No reply was send.

She watched the light-green door for a moment and shook her head. "Bastard," she muttered under her breath.

And to Luna's confusion, she was smiling.

* * *

If the sight of Ron in Hermione's apartment seemed shocking, if the truth of the Pansy-woman whom her thought was having an affair with Draco turned out to be a lesbian was shocking, and if the proposal from Draco had been shocking, nothing had prepared Harry for what happened when he opened the front door of the apartment. Ron and Hermione stood there and gave him a warm smile. The expression on their faces asking him for permission to come in. He nodded right away, wondering why were they here for.

"Congratulation Harry," the female doctor said right away, handing him a basket. Harry merely gaped. "Your fiancé told us about the illegal wedding," she explained, her lips twitched as she tried to suppress a smirk. "You have no idea how hard Ron choked on his red beans soup."

The redhead grumbled something inaudible as he stared at the room, admiring the furnitures and the architectural accomplishments. Harry thought that he saw a flash of jealousy.

"So I thought we'd stop by and say hello," she continued. "Nice shirt. It brings out your eyes quite well. And a great match with the theme color of the interior."

The brunette looked down at the grass green shirt he was wearing and nodded. "Thank you," he mumbled, looking at her fade skirt and wool sweater. They looked clean, but fade and old. Harry thought that she dressed like his grade school teacher back in his little Virginia town. Ron was wearing a sweater and vest with a pair of old trouser that was one size too large for him.

"A guy sold it to me," he said when he saw Harry staring. "It's not new, but at least I can afford it. And I'd grow and fit into this better. The vest use to be Hermione's father's." The sweater was the same ones that Ron wore before he had ran away from Harry that day.

"I like the vest-" he began a compliment.

"What a _hideous _spectacle!" a booming call rang out dramatically. Pansy Parkinson glided with the grace worthy of a duchess out of the guest bedroom. In her hand was a Chinese paper fan. She closed it with a sudden snap as she observed the unexpected guests standing in the middle of her friend's living room. "Who is the one in that repulsive vest!"

"Hello Pansy," Harry said, quite flabbergasted as he checked her up and down. On top of Pansy's head was an Indian veil with a deep red ruby stone set in the center. A feather came up from behind it, nearly touching the ceiling. She was wearing an old fashion layered gown, topping all that with high-heels and a black Native American fur coat of some sort, decorated with geometric designs. The Parkinson stood with her nose up in the air, obviously pleased that she was the center of the attention. Ron's head was a red tomato, and Hermione looked as if she was the one who was choking on red beans.

The strangely dressed woman twirled around twice and strutted, snapping opened her fan again. "Cultural diffusion," she answered calmly, as if the two words were the answer to everything.

"...Yes," Harry agreed absently. "But don't you want to change? You're going to have some difficulties walking with that dress and high heels." He did not add on the fact that the dress looked very weird with her pregnant stomach; she should have wore a looser dress.

"Nonsense," she proclaimed. "Now who are they? _Soy curiosa_."

He took a guess at what that might meant. "They are my friends, they're just here to say congratulation," he shrugged as her eyes narrowed. Her lips- top lip black and the bottom red- curled up with suspicion. Hermione looked at her.

"We can leave-"

"Oh no," Pansy said with a full-bloom smirk. "Do stay. The more the merrier, right Harry?"

"Oh we're perfectly willing to leave er.... Miss," Hermione said again.

"Not a chance." The Parkinson marched over to the open door and closed it tight shut. "You're trapped," she declared cheerfully. "Welcome to Paradise."

* * *

They stayed for the party, which consisted of five main courses that Luna prepared. Ron cleared his first plate in a matter of seconds before having a second helping, and devoured that even faster. He had five helpings before Hermione insisted that if he ate anymore, he was going to throw up. He did five minutes later in the bathroom Porkchop was sleeping in.

A little conflict broke out when Pansy tried to open up a bottle of Hennessy and attempted to have a drink.

"Come on," she had protested when Hermione snatched the bottle away from her. "It's a party and a party must have some sort of brandy!"

The female doctor then reminded her that she was pregnant, to which the stubborn Parkinson replied by popping open the bottle of booze and took a full swing from it anyway. Only to have it taken by Luna, who poured it down the sink. Pansy sulked on the sofa for ten minutes before she started to eat the rest of the leftovers.

It was definitely not what Harry would expected to be a wedding party; he had attended a few of those back in Virginia. Weddings he had been to were very official with people dressing in their best Sunday clothes, walking around, greeting friends, and congratulating the bride and the groom when had the chance to approach them. There were usually buffets, of course. And the couples, the groom in black and the bride in white, said their oaths first before the ceremony actually started.

However, his wedding was the other way around. Nobody were dressed very official. Nobody walked around with a glass of wine in their hand to greet their friends; it wouldn't have make sense for them to anyway. The food were all gone and everybody had ate their fill, tired to bone when Draco, whose navy blue tie hung loose around his neck, suddenly took his hand and dragged him in front of the fire place, declaring to all in the room that they were marrying first. Overall, Harry found it... weird. He liked it.

"Ha!" Ron laughed at them with a pointed finger. "You don't have anyone here to marry you!"

Both him and Draco flushed at this; neither of them had though about it. They gazed around the room hopelessly, as if someone would appear out of the thin air with a book, reading the oath to them, which caused Ron to laugh even harder.

Hermione save the day. She stood up and shook her head with amusement, walking over to the fireplace and stood in front of the lost male couple. The redhead boy watched her with a stunned expression, which she returned the look with a raise of an eyebrow before beginning her version of the typical marriage oath.

"Draco Malfoy, are you, or are you not willing to take Harry Potter as you future husband," the female doctor said, trying to sound as professional as possible.

"No I'm not willing-" Harry jerked. "-Of course I will. What kind of a question is that?" he snorted, earning a growl from the brunette. Draco pinched his nose and started to lean forward.

"Huh hum." Harry and Draco immediately jumped a foot back and looked away, both blushing furiously. "Do you, Harry Potter, or do you not take this young man as your wife."

"Hey!" the blond hissed instantly. Pansy and Ron's laughter rang clear as crystal around the room as Harry stammered a quick "yes." Complaints from Draco started.

"I refuse to be the wife!" he cried, outraged. And before he can protest further, a pair of lips gently covered his mouth, pulling him into a kiss. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Hermione smiling, Luna laughing, Pansy rolling on the floor, giggling uncontrollably, and Ron stared with a frozen straight face, then quickly pasting on a small smile.

The doctor then declared them married, her voice echoed and faded as Draco's hand began to tangle with his wild hair, leaning even closer. A loud groan could be heard from Ron, who whined for them to get a room. The kiss was finally broken apart by Pansy roughly shoving them apart, claiming that they had held the stage long enough. Harry quickly took the empty sofa, grinning like mad.

"So how's being married like?" the redhead boy teased him.

"Great," he answered anyway.

* * *

The sound of the four happy guests grew fainter and fainter as Harry watched them disappeared down the staircase. Pansy's tall feather hat made its last peak, almost waving goodbye to them. Turning to the chaotic living room, he couldn't help but moaned at the catastrophic setting of upside-down furnitures, food and utensils all over the carpet,- _carpet, we should have taken that carpet out_- a smashed Hennessy bottle, knocked-over lamps, and stains on the wall.

"We have a lot to do don't we?" Draco said with a chuckle. "I should have convinced Pansy to have the wedding at her flat. But she's funding for it, so I have to provide the place for it."

Tired and fulfilled with contentment and food, he staggered slowly over to the sofa and plopped down beside Draco and encircled the waist of his... wife, he crackled wickedly in his own mind at the word. "Great wedding," he complimented. "Nothing like all the others I've been to."

The blond chuckled and pressed a kissed against his forehead, in which Harry lifted his chin up, causing Draco's lips to clash on his mouth instead. He tugged at the loose tie and felt their teeth colliding as they both rolled off the sofa and onto the floor. Harry gasped into the kiss.

"Wait, you arm-" he managed to get in before Draco pulled him into another make-out session. Soon, the bad arm was forgotten. His pants mysteriously vanished along with Draco's shirt and they were suddenly in the bedroom on the bed; a trail of clothes followed their path, letting them know later exactly how they got there.

Harry let out a soft moan as their erections brushed together. The air on his bare back gave him a slight chill, soon distracted as Draco plopped his weight to his elbow and went up, capturing his neck and bite down. He purred.

"Hey," Harry whispered suddenly. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm on top."

A smirk came to his lover's face as he withdrew his teeth. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm the husband this time," he declared, watching with delight as Draco froze, then scowled. Their weight suddenly shifted as a result of Draco attempting to flip them over. Harry held his ground steady and gave the man a mischievous smile. "Lay back... wife."

"No you don't," the blond beneath him grunted, trying to shift positions again, only managed to grin their hips together even harder. A loud snort suddenly interrupted them in mid-moan. Both stopped and stiffened.

"Was that Porkchop?" Harry asked and started to get off the bed.

"Wha- You! You get back here right now! I'm not having that pig-" He shook his head and went after the brunette, knowing that it was hopeless to try to stop him. _Just make that pig sleep please. _"It's our wedding night for Pete's sake," he muttered.


	29. Chapter 29

**So sorry for the slow update. I thought this was suppose to be an easy, easy chapter. But noooooooooooo.... Anyway, I'm back to school again. So yeah, school sucks. Happy late New Years everybody!!!**

**Next chapter is the Epilogue. That's right, it's almost over.**

* * *

Narcissa had lived for forty-five years. She had been born into one of America's wealthiest families, and the money and fame of it had took her to many places, letting her see many things. But she had never seen a dove before.

Sometimes she would see a pigeon or a seagull on a beach and thought it was a dove but always discover herself wrong when the white bird pooped in her hand, took her sandwich, and flew away. She had seen doves in picture books and in paintings, yet never one up close.

"Hey." _Hey, hey, hey hey_... The dove's voice echoed around in her head, she felt dizzy from it. Her head hurt for a moment. Everything faded to emptiness and silence as she stared at the snow-white bird above her. She blinked, not startled even though she knew that doves weren't suppose to talk. "Mrs. Malfoy_." Foy, foy, foy, foy... _"Are you awake?" _Ake, ake, ake, ake_.

She wanted to tell the dove that she was alright, but she couldn't move her lips. Just when a sound forced past her lips, sounding much like a whimper, another white dove flew in and nuzzled her face gently.

"Is she alright doctor?" _Tor, tor, tor, tor._

"Don't know yet." And they flew out of her sight.

She woke up in a dark hospital room. An oxygen mask covered her face, rushing in fresh air for her to breath. Her vision was blurred as she looked up towards the ceiling. Her arms lay by her side, useless and numb. Her entire body felt numb.

It was night time outside, judging by the patches of silver caused by the windows. Narcissa turned her sore neck to her left, and saw her husband.

She could not see Lucius' face, he had buried his head into his arms so only his blond hair was visible to her. His breathing was loud, almost to snoring, and the rising and setting was peacefully rhythmical. She wondered how long he had been there.

And what about Tom and Draco. How were they? What happened? All she could remember was her head hitting against something and the shouts of her son. Then everything went black before fading out to white with the talking doves and she was in this hospital room.

Lucius stirred in his sleep and lifted up his head, revealing a tiresome, solemn face that she almost didn't recognize. Wrinkles lined his face, making him looked more like a man in his late fifties than the age he was suppose to be. The dark circles were pronounced, still vivid underneath the dim moon light. Her heart squeezed itself with guilt, knowing just how terrible he would look in broad daylight. There were crusts around his eyes and mouth.

He stared at her for a moment, at first with an expression of calmness and indifference which were quickly replaced by astonishment. He blinked at her and shook his head back and forth.

"Nar- Narcissa?" he breathed.

She tried to reply.

"Wait here, I'll get the doctor." He sounded joyful. Joyful at her awakening. She wanted to cry.

The doctor ventured into the room minutes later.

"This is doctor Burchle," Lucius introduced the man in the white coat to her, who gave her a nod.

"Hello Mrs. Malfoy." He sounded like the first dove, she realized. "Now let's see..." he trailed off as he stared at the table beside her and scribbled down some notes on his clipboard. He then touched the pulse at her neck. "Normal, almost normal... She's doing fine. Should be out of here by the end of the week."

Lucius let out a breath that he had been holding in for the past time and thanked Doctor Burchle, who walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.

"You've been unconscious for two weeks now," he started. "You hit your head pretty hard on that table side."

She managed to nod.

"Tom Riddle is dead."

Narcissa didn't know what to react. She couldn't even comprehend the meaning of those words at first. Tom Riddle was dead? Tom was dead? Riddle was dead? Dead? Who was dead? Tom Riddle. Then she jerked, startled, and let out a whimpering sort of noise.

"Dead," she heard herself whispered, not sure if that word got through the oxygen mask.

"Yes." Lucius said. So it had got through. "He's dead. The police found his body in a hidden room at the side of the speakeasy bar. Someone blew off the side of his head with a gun. He was buried in the public cemetery the next day. There wasn't a funeral, though I went to his grave site that night and gave him a Narcissus flower." He swallowed. "From you."

Should she say thank you?

"The police decided not to look for his killer, since he was criminal himself," he said. "I could hire a investigation team for you or-"

"No," Narcissa interrupted, tears blurred her eyes. "Don't. Sorry." It was all she could manage as her body shuddered and shook with anguish. "Sorry," she choked out again and began to question herself of how could two sorries solve anything? There was no point at it except to clear herself of her own wrong. She could feel remorse and regret what she had done, it won't change a thing.

The second dove nuzzled her cheek again. Lucius gazed down at her and sighed. "Everything is alright."

No it was not. Nothing was. What about the loss?

She turned away, not wanting to think about it anymore.

"Draco?" she asked again, hoping in her heart that Lucius would considered her enough of a mother to tell her that.

"He's not here."

"Where?"

"I don't know."

They removed her oxygen mask the next day when Lucius was sleeping beside her bed, sitting on a wooden stool. Dr. Burchle shook his head with exasperation at the sight of him.

"This hospital has a visitor's rule. I told him that he could only visit you for two hours a day in the afternoon and he insists on staying through nights." He was about to say more, but stopped. Probably going to tell her about how Lucius got to be the exception of the rule. Money talks among people. Narcissa wondered just how much did Lucius bribed the hospital with.

Why would he do that?

"Can you speak okay?" Burchle asked her.

"Ye- yes," she answered. The new air she breathed was heavier than the clean fresh oxygen before. She took a couple of deep breathes trying to get use to the new air.

"Good. But don't try to talk too much right now. Relax, you'll be back to normal."

Lucius woke up half an hour later and stared at her with mild surprise at the missing mask. "You're feeling well?"

She nodded.

"Do you want water?"

"Am I allow that?" His back straightened with something almost like pride when she spoke.

"Of course you are." And he went away to fetch her a cup of water.

Narcissa sank into her bed like dead weight as she watched him leaving. Tom came back to her mind. Tom dead. Was it her Tom though? She thought about it. No, something answered her, her Tom was long dead before this. Her Tom had died on that day, Lucius and her wedding date, when the town's sheriff cuffed his wrists together while he hollered at everybody wildly with rage.

She remembered how mad he was, how scared she had been to see him barging through the crowd to reach her. She had not told him that she was engaged to be married. He had thought that she would always be his girl. He must have felt so betrayed by her, like Lucius. Both, she betrayed both.

She gulped down the rock in her throat.

* * *

Malfoy Inc. was safe, safe enough for the time being. The stocks had took a major drop this month, but with stronger advertisement and deals, it could probably climb back to its feet again. That, Narcissa took as the only good news so far as Lucius sat by her bed side and talked.

He brought in newspapers that she had missed too. An outlaw of the state of Nevada and California, Blaise Zabini, had been captured and sentenced to one year on death roll along with some of his closest men. She had hesitated when she read the front page article. The location of his arrest was the alleyway linked to Fifteen Henry Street. There had been drugs and illegal liquors discovered, and all capture criminals had been charged with jail penalties. She tossed the paper aside with trembling hands, scared.

Flipping three pages into a two and a half week old newspaper, another giant headline caught her eyes.

**RICH STOCK BROKER OF VIRGINIA MURDERED BY WIFE**

Narcissa blinked at this and read on.

_On the last Wednesday of September in Virginia, Peter Pettigrew, a rich stock  
broker and the owner of two businesses of age forty-three was killed by his  
wife of age twenty-three, Ginevra Pettigrew. They had been married happily for  
over a year. Household servants told the tale of an angry Mr. Pettigrew storming  
home, demanding to see his wife, which resulted a chase to one of the house's  
guest bedroom, where Mrs. Pettigrew pulled out a gun and shot her husband._

_Sheriff Hale said, "One of the maids called us at my office and we rushed over there,  
thinking it was another wife-beating situation. When we approached the bedroom,  
we found instead a scenario of the opposite- a dead man killed by his madden young  
wife."_

_Mrs. Pettigrew was said to be screaming and crying when one of the officers tried to  
arrest her. One witness described her as, "blood covering her face, standing not feet  
away from the weapon."_

"_She kept saying that she's innocent, that she didn't kill Mr. Pettigrew," said another witness.  
"And she kept saying that she's only fourteen." On all of her legal files and identifications  
Mrs. Pettigrew was aged as twenty-three._

_Ginevra Pettigrew is to be at trial on the sixth of October at nine A. M., which she is to  
be represented by her appointed lawyer, Thomas Pineford in the Southern Light  
Court House._

Picking up the newspaper of October seventh, Narcissa quickly caught the tiny article in the middle of a bunch of ads and photos.

**Husband-Killer Being Put in Mental Ward**

_Mrs. Pettigrew, arrested in September for murdering her husband, is  
put in the care of Virginia State Ward sector for the mentally disables. From  
the words of her lawyer, Mrs. Pineford, Mrs. Pettigrew is going through  
a mental breakdown that will eventually affect her mental being  
devastatingly. It is unlikely that she will recover. She had been cleared  
of her charges due to plead of insanity._

Her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes, remembering that night she spent with Tom. He had mentioned the name Pettigrew, something about Peter Pettigrew spending so much money on the wedding with his thirteen year old trophy wife yet had not paid a single cent of the debt. Yes, it was Pettigrew. And now both him and Tom were dead.

Narcissa wondered what Ginevra Pettigrew did.

* * *

"Where is Draco?" she asked quietly a question that had been stamped in her mind since day one. Lucius had talked to her so much about everything for the past week, but never about their son. He never told her why Draco was in the speakeasy with them, why was he shouting "Harry." Or for that matter, who was Harry?

She sank back to her bed as his face gone from relaxed to tensed. He looked uncomfortable.

"What did he do this time?" she whispered. He did not answer. "He did not do something illegal did he? Was he arrested?" That, they could handle. But if Draco were arrested, there should be at least a mention of it in the article. "Did he get a girl pregnant?" That, they could handle too. "Did he die?"

"No."

Narcissa released a sigh.

"He- Well, this is going to be a shock to you."

"What did he do?" she asked again, this time with strong concern to the edge of her tone. "Or what happened to him?"

"He did something vile, something disgusting. Possible illegal." Her husband's lips curled back with slight anger, his knuckles clenched into fists. "He had a new lover."

She frowned. Draco getting a new lover was no new news. He had a new lover every other week, if one would call those girls lovers. "What's wrong with that? He'd probably change his mind about her in less that a week."

"It had been going on for quite some time. More than a month, I'd say. I don't know, he had kept it from me for..." He shook his head. "I really want to break this to you gently-"

"It's not a _really_ young girl is it?" she demanded.

"No, fifteen or sixteen." Then another pause. "Draco isn't with a girl, he's with a boy."

Narcissa stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

"He's with a boy. Named Harry. I thought he was playing a joke on me; I thought he wanted more money or... But he said he's not giving that boy up. He's gay, our son is gay," Lucius croaked the words out, as if disgusted to even have to say them. She pressed her lips thin. This can't be true. Draco with a boy? "I've filed the paper with our lawyer, and I disowned him. The final approval will be signed next Thursday-"

"He's you _only_ son! I can't have another baby, you know that. I can't..." Tears sprouted from her eyes, thinking maybe Lucius got another heir hidden somewhere without her knowing. "I- If you disown him- I know I haven't been a good mother or anything but you can't disown him. He's your son. Unless you got someone else-"

He gave her a sharp look and she stopped, bursting into full sobs.

"Who said anything about another heir somewhere else?" he snapped at her. "He's gay, Narcissa. That's no better than having no son. He can't have children-"

"Yes he can," she stated, wiping away tears. "Adopt? Get he to get together with a girl and we'd pay her for the custody of kid." She rambled on, speaking all the possibilities of Draco and a heir to continue the business.

"He's gay," Lucius repeated firmly. "And he's stubborn."

"He's also serious about that Harry if he's-"

"It's not love. It's a mere stage. He could always come back if- no, not if. _When_ he got over with it. If it's not a stage, then I've made the right decision by disowning him. Things like that taint our name, Narcissa-"

"This is about pride?"

He blinked, caught by surprise. "No, it's about a child who does not know what's good for him to be."

"Did you even talk to him about it?"

"Why would I? It's useless. He's not going to change his mind about the boy, you know just how stubborn he can be, and.... I will not stand for a gay son, not matter what. What he's doing with that boy is abnormal and not acceptable. I told him, I reminded him that he likes women; he always have. Why the sudden mind change if not a stage or a prank?" Lucius explained. "If he wants more money, then all he had to do is ask."

"And did you explain that to him?"

"Of course I did. He came bursting into my office that day-"

"Why would he give everything up if not for love?"

Lucius stared at his wife with with amazement, then shook his head. Narcissa bite her tongue and hissed silently at the way she put her words. "You're saying that you _accept_ what he is?"

"He found love. And we haven't been good parents," she lowered her head trying to look sorrowful. "We don't have the right to tell him what to do or whom to love anymore. We don't have that right from the beginning. I've never been a mother to him at all; I've never even fed him like a proper mother would when he was a baby. And we, we just let him have whatever he wants. You were always lecturing him on his poor grades and did nothing to actually help. You transferred him to schools he didn't like and.... We've never really cared for his happiness."

"Why would you say that all of the sudden?"

She smiled meekly. "A week in bed with nothing to do give me the chance to think."

She saw Lucius slumped with exhaust, his mind wrapped in his own little blanket of stubbornness.

"Let's talk things over with Draco."

* * *

Draco liked the feeling of Harry's body pressing up against his. It gave him warmth and comfort no amount of pillow or fire would. Harry felt wonderful, the smoothness of his skin to the way his hair would tickle his chin. He thought about women often, he would pictured them naked next to him and the mere mental image of that grossed him out, which was strange, very strange.

But he didn't care.

"It's seven," Harry reminded him. "and you need to shower, eat, get dress-"

"And in between all of that, you owe me something last night," Draco added with a smirk, nudging his harden erection at Harry's.

"Tonight," the brunette promised and shivered with delight. "The- He said that we need to be there at eight thirty and you know that you'd take over an hour in the bathroom- Draco!"

"What?"

"Stop..."

The smirk grew wider. "Really?" he purred.

"I mean it."

Draco sighed and backed away. "We don't even have to go. Why should I meet with him just because he wants me to? He's the ones who turned away from me in the first place, it's not my fault."

"He's offering you a chance and you can't screw this one up. What else can you do? You said so yourself that you refused to work in factories. I could go but you said no-"

"That place will ruin you, you know that. I don't want you to be ruin and dirty everything I see you. My boy deserves better," he declared.

A warm feeling fluttered in the bottom of his stomach. Draco's boy? "Do it for your boy then. Get dress." The blond pouted at the refusal and slowly got out of bed. Later, with one last fervent, time-consuming make out, Harry pushed Draco out of the apartment.

They stood in front the the massive building in front of them. Draco could feel a dense stone pounding his head as he walked closer and closer. Harry followed him from behind, red in the face. They were both dressed in suits, with the brunette shifting in his outfit, not use to the stiffness of the fabric. Draco had insisted he look handsome in it.

There was a new security guard, and this one nodded respectfully at the once-Malfoy. So the disowning hadn't reached the press yet.

"Is Lucius Malfoy here?" he asked the guard.

"He just came in not ten minutes ago with Mrs. Malfoy." Draco frowned at the announcement of his mother. Why was Narcissa here? As this was Lucius, Draco thought that his father would have already divorced her. "They told me to tell you that they'll be waiting in room number 495."

"Thank you."

The walk to the fourth floor as the longest one Draco had ever took in his life. Room number 495 was a million miles away.

The door was opened.

They stepped in.


	30. Chapter 30: Epilogue

Ginny no longer looked beautiful.

Harry found himself recoiling back, stupefied as she walked into the divided room and sat down on the wooden stool at the other side of the table. Her caretaker quickly left without a care; there won't be trouble. A thick wall of transparent glass walled through the table in the center with only a large hole for communicating purposes.

A twenty-six year old Harry Potter took a deep breath and made himself looked back at Ginevra Pettigrew, who looked back with a solemn face. Bitterness and anger clouded her eyes. "You," she whispered, almost hissing.

"Hi," he said back.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny continued in that same raged tone. "What do you want? I've got nothing left, what do you want from me? You want a good laugh? Fine, have your laugh and go away. Get the fuck out of my sight!"

Yes, Harry decided, she was no longer beautiful, neither personality-wise nor physically. It shouldn't have surprised him; food here could not have been better than a prison's, tasteless and full of starches. She had gain weight; her body was layered with rolls of fat and her chin was doubled. Her hair was a mess, more than Harry's own natural curled hair had ever been, nor had her unfriendly face helped with her looks.

"I just want to visit you, I don't know why," he started. "Perhaps I'm just curious, I suppose. I know you probably don't want to see me, I don't blame you."

Ginny made a snorting sound. "You're rich now aren't you? Nice suit," she said with a sneer.

"Thank you," he stoically replied.

"Well, talk, what do you want to know?"

He leaned forward. "Did you really killed Peter Pettigrew?"

A stricken look stroke her face and she looked away, ready to cry. Her hands trembled as she lifted one up and covered her mouth with terror. Wetness glistened in her eyes when she finally looked back at him. "Shut-up," she whispered.

"I don't believe that you could kill-"

"I said 'shut-up'!" she whispered again. "I've been isolated in this hell of a place because of that for eleven year now, and the rest of my life if I don't die soon. Shut-up. If that's why you're here, then go away. I don't want to see you!"

Harry made a frown. He did not know why he was here to see her. This had been an assignment that Draco wanted him to do, a trip to Tennessee to talk with a ranch owner about the oil supply there. The ways of the train had brought him to Virginia. And Ginny had crossed his mind. He still remembered the two newspaper article, and still wondered if Ginny had really killed Pettigrew and became insane.

She looked mad, but not insane.

"Ron's married," he began another topic so suddenly that she actually gave a startled jerk, followed by the pressing of her lips.

"Great," she merely spat. "Great life he's having right? And the twins too? How's Percy? He's doing great too I bet. All married with wives and children. Well Harry, did you know that they've never gave a thought about their little sister for the past eleven years? Did you know that none of them had came to visit me? Eleven years, Harry, nobody visited me."

"Ron had a three year old son. He's married to a woman doctor," he informed. Hermione and Ron married five years ago, legally in a nearby church. Ron being twenty-one and Hermione being thirty-nine. Harry remembering himself staring at his best friend in shock when Hermione got pregnant, but had not said anything. "Fred and George went to California and took Dean with them. We haven't heard back from them since then."

Ginny bite her lips as a silence passed.

"Percy's dead."

She stiffened. "...Dead?"

"He died on my fifteenth birthday," Harry said. "About four months after you got married with Pettigrew."

"I didn't know."

"He saw the article on your wedding. He was weak, not even suppose to be out of bed. He had tuberculosis, and he died coughing."

Harry saw her shivered as she thought of this over. He couldn't decide on what the trembling was for; fear or guilt, or maybe both. Her eyes scanned over the wooden table top and bite her lips, as if deciding on a response.

"Are you trying to make me feel bad by telling me what happened to Percy? For all I know, he could be living in a rich mansion with his own island. I don't feel bad about what I did, Harry. " Ginny said, turning around to look at him once again. "It's not working. And yes, I killed Peter. I stole fifteen thousand dollars from him for Blaise so he tried to kill me. I never regret killing him; I did it out of self-defense-"

"After you stole fifteen thousand from him. You know that you don't even have to kill him right? You could've just waited for the police to arrest him-"

"I don't care anymore!!! It was either me or him, so I picked him to die!! Don't try to make me feel bad, people around here have been trying to do that for eleven years. It's not working."

Harry stared at her and could not put together, as hard as he might try, the girl he had knew with this woman. She stared back at him with blazing, angry brown orbs. "Ron said you murdered Percy," he said with a shake of him head. Every single one of the Weasley brothers had told Ron to shut-up. Harry had too, but now, he wasn't so sure.

"I don't care," she finally broke down. "Nobody cared, nobody tried to defend or speak for me in court! Not even my own lawyer- of course, he's not really mine, he some cheap, second-handed lawyer who can't do anything that they tossed to me to coop with the law! He called me insane! When your husband beat you and you killed him out of self-defense, how is that insane?! But who had listened to me? Tell me, who listened? Nobody! So they put me in a nut house and wrote me off!!!"

Tears streamed down her cheek as she raged. Her plumped hands shook with fury- her entire body shook, helplessly as she pounded the table, letting out her anger.

"I was fourteen year old, I told them that. But did they listened?"

Legally, she was twenty-two at the time of her arrest.

"The food they serve here is crap," she said, her voice sounded broken. "Rotten fruits with worms and cold pastas. The only thing they had to drink here is water, no orange juice, no milk, no coffee, no syrup. Corn bread, the same dishes everyday, no matter what holiday. On Christmas we got an extra egg. That's it. This is a hell hole here."

Harry wanted to tell her that he was sorry, but that would be insincere.

"They treated like a no body, like what people had always treated me like." And then she laughed. "Oh, you know when I was younger, there was a really nice nurse here. That's when this place wasn't as bad as now. He use to sneak booze and sweets to my room everyday, he was really nice to me because I did him good. They fired him right after they found out about us. That was the only nice here. It lasted about three weeks."

He felt sick. Biles rise up his throat and the Ginny he had first seen in the newspaper came flashing back to him. He could see back to the Sunday when he had picked up the paper about her wedding, how much it disgusted him, how mad the Weasleys had been. He could even picture how Percy had died.

Ginny had not changed. Same old slut.

"So you're rich now?"she snapped.

"Yes," he merely answered.

"As what?"

"Vice president and co-owner," he said. "Of Malfoy Inc."

Her sullen expression brightened up with interests. "Vice president and co-owner? How did you land yourself such lucky positions?"

"I applied and they hired me through a test," he lied through his teeth and closed his right hand. He had gone through tests yes. Strange tests involving a bed with Draco and one whole day just "doing things" that Harry had no idea of why Draco said it must be done because well, they do the same time everyday; morning, in the office, in bed... He held his breath, refusing for it to hitch and thank the lord that he had wore a looser pair of pants

"_You passed,"_ Draco had said with a grin that puzzled Harry that day to no end.

She nodded, as if it was her place to approve him. "It must be wonderful."

"It is. Very wonderful," he answered, wondering what she was up to. "Did you know that Roosevelt got elected again? He's doing a wonderful job repair the country's mess."

"Why did you came to me after eleven years?" she asked, ignoring the comment about the president.

"I came to see how you were doing. I know Ron didn't visit you, not that he would, he said, if given the chance, and he had been given that chance. I don't know if the twins or your parents ever visited." Most likely, the twins had not visited. "I'm on a business trip right now. My train leaves at nine tomorrow."

"The paperwork to get me out of here would take less than two minutes."

He flinched and drew back before staring her in the eyes.

"I'm married," he spat.

She scoffed. "Never heard of an affair?"

"I have no intention of cheating on my hu- spouse," Harry answered. "And I don't want a whore like you."

Ginny leaned forward and pressed her hand on the glass. "Don't you remember us Harry? Childhood love can grow into something else altogether," she whispered in a low voice, no doubt trying to sound seductive. It only made Harry felt queasy in the stomach for even staring at her. He shook his head with repulse and rang the bell for the caretaker.

"Harry," she said again.

"You should know that there was no us to begin with," he said coldly. "There could've been, but thankfully, there's not. I don't love you, Ginny, I never did. I doubt that I've even liked you. And you're right. Childhood love can grow into something else altogether; nothing."

And with that, he walked out of the door. Yelling of something along the lines of "You fucking bastard!!!" can be heard. But it did not mattered anymore. The last of his past was rid and over with. He was contented.

* * *

Draco dragged him into a kiss just as he opened the front door, not even letting Harry the chance to see his husband's face. But as a familiar wet tongue licked his bottom lips, the Potter decided that he did not mind.

_Bam!_ The sound of the door being kicked closed made Harry jerked as he grabbed onto the arm of a chair. His head hit the floor with a light impact. Draco was still kissing him fervently like there might not be a tomorrow. Harry moaned with delight as a hand tugged his hair, then pounded on Draco's chest. The blond pulled away, confusion and happiness presented in his expression.

"We're only human," he teased and took in a deep breath for exclamation. Draco, who was sitting on top of him in an rather awkward position, laughed and leaned in again.

"Damn you, you left me alone for three weeks," he whispered. Harry shivered as his hot breath blew a gentle breeze past his ear. "I'm starved."

"Did you went elsewhere to get the food?" Harry muttered as teeth nibbled his earlobe.

"Knew there's only one delicious thing in the world," his lover responded and tugged at his black tie, pried open his suit, practically ripping everything off.

Harry let out a small purr as Draco exposed his chest and pulled down his pants. Both looked at each other, lust and passion glinted in their eyes, love hidden behind them, ready to do the enforce. Harry let himself openly catching his breath as Draco's hand wandered down. It touched him and started a slow rhythm. He arched up and thrust into the skilled hand.

No one could ever be like this. There was only Draco. Harry thought back to Ginny and mentally sneered at her in his mind. Deciding that he would rather not be turned off, he focused on Draco's hand again, now tracing circles around his entrance. His breath hitched again as a finger slided in.

"Fuck," he moaned.

"That's the idea Harry," Draco whispered.

"Aren't you hard?" The green-eyed man moaned as another finger slipped in.

Draco chuckled and pumped faster. His lover arched up and met them, two hand gripping on the carpet as he rode them, moaning something inaudible that could pass as hissing. Though Draco was sure that he heard his name somewhere; he like watching Harry's face more, the way those green eyes would glow and shine, all the while knowing that it was his doing.

"I've been hard all afternoon you teaser. Thought I'm going to be in the bathroom all day," he whispered and reached a hand down to touch himself. The attempt was unsuccessful.

Harry laughed a melodious laugh.

"I had to attend a boring meeting, you know. And I just have nothing to think about." There, he shifted his position. "So I left early and came back home," Draco continued in that husky whisper. "You are one minute late."

A hand brushed passed his erection, just a hair of a brush. And before he knew it, Harry rolled over on top of him, already kicking off his shoe. The brunette took the remainder of his undergarment off and threw them aside. Draco, Harry noticed for the first time that day, was only wearing a boxer. His wet hair fell over one of his eyes.

"The bus was late," Harry answered, not really paying attention to what he was saying.

"Damn the bus," he answered back. "You know that you could've just called me right?"

"Can't find a phone," Harry said and covered Draco's mouth with his own. He was somewhat glad. Draco was still older than him, but not taller, not bigger, not stronger. Not anymore. He tangled one of his hands with Draco's wet blond hair and the other cupped the Malfoy's cheek.

"What did I missed?"

The face of the man beneath him transformed into a wide grin. "Good news."

"What?" They never got good news often anymore.

"Large orders, demands of supplies," Draco began with excitement and pushed Harry off him. "Do you know why?"

"No," Harry answered back with a frown. "Am I suppose to?"

"Haven't you read yesterday's paper?"

He scolded at his lover. "I was on the train yesterday. What is it?"

It was obviously something good, or Draco wouldn't be smiling like this. Harry's brain was thrilled with curiosity, wondering what had happened while he was gone. Large orders? The Malfoy Inc hardly get anymore large orders. Just what sped up the economy? _I must have missed a lot._

"The Japs bombed Pearl Harbor."

His first reaction was a brick of questions, because for a moment, he had not know what Draco meant when he said "The Japs." Then it slowly came to him that he meant the Japaneses.

"Japan bombed Pearl Harbor? By plane?" Was Draco buffing?

This was met with a roll of eyes. "No, they bombed it by riding on origami birds."

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. "You said it like it's good news! It's not good news, this is bad! We're weak enough already and they have to go and attack on Hawaii for no reason? And why- Stop laughing!! Draco, there's nothing funny about this!" He shook his head. "What does this have to do with large orders anyway?"

"Harry," Draco slapped him on his cheeks like he was stupid. "Congress declared war on Japan just yesterday. We're going to war."

"WHAT!?"

"Shush!"

Harry curled his lips up. "You're not funny, this isn't the time-" And Draco threw him a newspaper.

He watched with amusement as Harry's face twitched with horror and disbelief. He too, had been shocked at first. The tension between USA and Japan was there, yes. But he had never thought either of the country would be entering war state. It had done good, it had brought people back up to their feet. There was something else to talk about beside pain and misery. It gave millions their jobs back, and gave millions of other another path to take.

Harry slowly put the paper down and stared up, looking very funny. A sex-upped face of red lips and messed up hair did not go well with astonishment.

"What have we got ourselves into?"

Draco laughed a loud laugh. "I can answer that." He pushed the brunette downward and pressed their lips together. Tonight, they will celebrate. And tomorrow, there will be depression no more.

_World War Two._

**FIN**

**Complete! My first real completed chapter story that actually went my way. Can you say wow? Yes? No? Fine, wow...**

**Thanks for sticking with me through this story, my many name changes, and slow updates. Thanks for the reads, the favorites, the alerts, the C2s, and most of all, the wonderful, wonderful reviews and constructive criticisms. Big thanks to my two betas, whom even though quit some three-forth way into the story, helped me immensely with my grammar. So in case you're wondering why the last few chapters' grammar had gone a bit haywire, you know why now.**

**Now I'll go away, there's some other stories I've yet finished.**

**Hugs and Drarry,  
P. Lunar**


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